


A Time and Place: Hermione and Severus

by witty_line



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Black Hermione Granger, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Historical AU, Implied Sexual Content, Interracial Relationship, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Original Female Characters - Freeform, PTSD, Period-Typical Racism, Post War, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Time Travel, historical fiction - Freeform, racial themes, snamione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witty_line/pseuds/witty_line
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over.In its wake, Hermione travels with Madam Pomfrey to the Shrieking Shack to recover what she believes to be the deceased Severus Snape. He's alive, and what's more, he's being hunted by an unknown assailant. When too many spells backfire, Hermione, Severus, and their unknown wizard are blasted a century in the past, to May 2nd, 1888. There they struggle with each other, themselves, and what it means to find a place they belong.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 58
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BusinessBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BusinessBee/gifts).



> A few notes to my dearest reader;
> 
> 1\. This is a HISTORICAL fiction. As Hermione in this iteration is black, there are words here that would have been used in the time to describe her. If you are uncomfortable with these words, they are used throughout the fiction. I recommend those not interested in seeing those words continue no further. Also, for context, the terminology 'master' in this instance, as it is set in 1888 (long after slavery had been abolished in England), does not equate the opposing side as 'slave'. In references to Master, the Master's lesser could be a Servant, Footman, Butler, the like. Remember: Just because somebody is called a Master does not mean that person owns a slave.
> 
> 2\. This is a historical FICTION. Some ages, names, dates, places, have been edited to suit the purposes of this fiction. For instance, Howard Carter's age has been edited to suit better to the needs of the fiction. I already know it's not exact.
> 
> 3\. This is the first ever fiction I have ever finished! Covid-19 quarantine mindfulness has given me so much time to return to a fiction I had abandoned and reedited over the course of two years! Please read, review, comment (with the above notations in mind), and let me know what you think! I thrive off your critiques! If you're curious how to phrase a constrictive criticism, comment in the formula: 'I like ______, and I think you can work on ______.'
> 
> 4\. This work is dedicated to and in honor of my best friend. Without BusinessBee and their encouragement, I would have never started or completed this. This is for you, my dear.
> 
> 5\. This will be updated weekly!
> 
> Happy reading!

_I regret it._

Those were the final words Tom Riddle said to Severus before Nagini attacked, his cloak swinging in a wide flow as he turned and left the dusty, morose room of the shack. Nagini floated behind him in a galaxy of pale white and blue, protected from the harm Harry Potter intended to bring him. Severus sunk to his knees before succumbing to the dizziness of blood-loss. A dull, low heartbeat pounded through his hands and face while the pain erupted in blinding fire from his neck.

A snake in his own right, Voldemort slithered away now that he'd gained the full potential of the Elder Wand, in his mind. There would be no need to watch or wait for Severus to die. He still didn’t know that Draco Malfoy had the true power, as he had taken the wand from Dumbledore. That was fine by him, too. Draco didn’t deserve to die over a wand.

Severus stared at the empty doorway. Was this it? Dumbledore should have told him this was his fate, since he was so in-tune with death. It wasn't fair that Dumbledore got to know when he would die and Snape had to be surprised. Servitude. Loyalty, however grey or not. An unyielding determination. All of this for Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, and Severus lay on a dirty old floor as reward. His breath was labored now. Severus had come with a contingency, but would it be enough? Was he going to survive? Inside, he already felt dead.

From behind a crate was movement. Severus lifted his eyes to see what horror would advance upon him now, only to see a figure melt into the space just at his feet. A cloak lay bundled on the ground between them. The person was dirty and lanky, a filthy mop of hair swept around the brow sporting a jagged scar. Proud glasses perched on a nose with a familiar set of dazzling green eyes peered down on Severus in the gloom. If he could scream, he would have. Of course it was Potter, and Granger in tow.

Wait. _Potter!_ He had so much to tell him! So much that the perfectly prepared Dumbledore had never passed on. Severus could feel his eyes widen as he focused in on the battle-worn young man, the spitting image of his father. But there was more to him then, in the darkness, that he could see. The kindness everybody talked so much about was apparent in his eyes even as Potter glared at him. Potter was not cruel enough to be hateful to a man dying, and Severus not proud enough to miss this opportunity.

He could feel himself drawing up the strength to speak while magic began to brew in the pit of his gut. Potter leaned in far enough for Snape to reach with his free hand for the front of Potter's school robes.

"T-take it...take...it," Severus forced out from behind his blood-soaked mouth. As he fought to speak, the memories of his life, his answer and guide for everything Potter would need to do, poured from his being. It trickled from his eyes like tears, his lips like words. The essence of his mind was there.

Potter's eyes flickered around for an answer while Severus prayed he would someday grow out of his dullness. Behind him Granger produced a large flask for him with lightning speed, and Potter was able to scoop the trail of smoky white plasma into the container. Time was running as thin as Severus' blood. It was drawing near to the moment of truth.

Lily. Her face flashed across his mind. Her auburn hair only half-trapped in a messy ponytail, her deep green eyes that lingered in his vision as her son watched his face. Lily Evans. A tremble broke out from within him. Would he get to see her again? All these long years fighting the good fight, would he be rewarded then? Her voice seemed to call to him from a thousand eons ago. Sev. She used to call him Sev.

The contingency was kicking in. It forced his heart to speed back up, the skin around his neck warming once more. Severus' lungs didn't feel so heavy now. The potion was clotting his blood at an alarming rate, but the wound would need to be closed soon. Severus felt his vision kaleidoscope in a flash. It was now or never. Either he would wake a few hours from now, or he'd be thrown into the great beyond. Severus was not a superstitious man...but he hoped if it was the latter, that a certain Gryffindor would be waiting for him.

"Look...at...me..." Severus commanded in a hiss. Potter's eyes shot up to meet Severus' own as his fingers pressed the cork down onto the flask. Green. They were as green as Scotland. As green as the emeralds in the Slytherin hourglass. As green as the envy in Severus' heart. Just green.

Severus felt his hand fall away from his neck. He could relax now. His vision clouded. All he could see was green.

***

Madam Pomfrey had seen many weird things in her tenure at Hogwarts. She'd seen beautiful things too, like the sunset over the Black Lake and the edges of the Forbidden Forest lined in mist. There were good things and bad things mixed in everywhere. A broken arm during Quidditch only to find out your team still won, or the bad taste of teenage years. So many girls and boys coming to her for acne treatment. But she'd never seen the ravages of a war.

Smoke and screams, her skills and thin resources being put to the ultimate limit—it was all so much to deal with. Madam Pomfrey worked with her hands just as often as she used her wand, sometimes splinting broken bones with the weak threads of a ripped shirt. They were a mix of students in varying degrees of need. Some even died in her arms.

Ginny Weasley helped bring students in during the battle that she could spare. Bless her heart, she had the makings of a good mentor or mother. Her natural instincts to help were something Madam Pomfrey had seen in herself so many years ago.

All around, the best qualities of the students were on display. The younger Ravenclaw students who were trying to stay out of the fray worked in teams to help others, using their knowledges together. A few Slytherins who were loyal to their true friends guarded the doors and fiercely protected the fort of the Great Hall while Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs collected the students they could.

And still there were so many tears and screams. Death was a sinking cloud over these mere children, and while her hair flew loose from under her bonnet with stress, Madam Pomfrey could see the death reflected in the survivors' eyes. It was mixed in with sweat and fear, and it was infectious—everyone was either fighting it, or catching it.

Then, almost as soon as it all started, it was over. Cries and cheers mingled in the hall as people embraced their living friends, and even the dead ones. Their lives were torn apart—but their future was ahead of them. They had made it.

Then began the job of laying the dead together to be collected. It was a task done in love and grief. Some friends insisted on staying beside their fallen comrades when nobody else could come stay beside them. The strong did these things, mostly. Madam Pomfrey was able to guide them. That was the moment Hermione Granger came up to her with wet eyes.

"I need help...and I don't think anybody else will help me, Madam Pomfrey," Granger said past her cracked lips. She looked exhausted. Her once-beautiful chestnut hair was knotted in a huge nest at the nape of her neck, sweat-coated and full of debris. A smattering of scrapes and burns peppered her usually bright face.

Hermione Granger was usually followed closely by either Harry Potter or Ron Weasely, but she seemed to have slipped away from them. Madam Pomfrey wiped her ointment and blood covered hands on her torn apron with a sigh. Help. Everyone needed it.

"Miss Granger, I am rather occupied," Madam Pomfrey indicated to the people waiting to see her. Hermione shuffled back and forth as twin leaks started to come down her cheeks. They must have stung because she winced as they raced over her scratched face. Hermione leaned in and cupped her hands around Madam Pomfrey's ear. They blocked out some of the commotion but it was enough to catch Madam Pomfrey's attention. Upon hearing the words expressed with thick tears, Madam Pomfrey felt her heart seize up and then relax in sadness. So, him too.

As Hermione pulled away, her face fought against her emotions even harder. She was obviously torn about this. Looking at the students waiting, Madam Pomfrey made a difficult decision while waving McGonagall over who had just stormed into the Great Hall as a Headmistress should.

"Minervera...Miss Granger knows where Severus is," she said in a low tone. The deep grey eyes of the professor hardened into steel at the mention, but flickered toward Hermione who fell somewhere between guilt and grief. "She wants to know if I can help her retrieve his body." At the mention of just a body, Minervera's thin lips fell open. Her shaking hand wiped away the wispy hair messily framing her face before straightening her shoulders.

"I'll take charge of the students, Poppy. Please hurry back. We need you," McGonagall's voice said crisply as she waved forward to the next waiting student. Hermione looked more relieved by the second as Madam Pomfrey directed her to lead the way to Severus. There was no ceremony or announcement. They just moved from the Great Hall out into the night.

Madam Pomfrey was able to Apparate them just outside the Shrieking Shack as directed by Hermione, the darkness around them still and alluring. Hermione sucked in a few more breaths and wiped at her eyes again as the world stopped spinning in Madam Pomfrey's vision.

"Th-thank you," Hermione said while trying to compose herself. A faded rose-colored scar of the word Mudblood stood raised on her cool dusky skin as she rolled up her sleeves. "I don't think anybody else would help me. Everyone hated him."

"Are you aware of the Hippocratic Oath, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," Hermione replied while they began their walk down the winding pathway, entering the manufactured tunnel below the destroyed Womping Willow. "It says you're not supposed to do harm as a caregiver."

"It's more than that, though," Madam Pomfrey said as she drew her cloak around herself a little tighter. "It's a code of honor. Some even see it as a code of life; that you should not do harm against anyone intentionally, and to give your most. But most importantly that if you break your oath you should lose your reputation. And I like to keep my reputation impermeable to accusation that I did not do all that I could for somebody who needed it."

She tucked her arms across her chest. It was a cold feeling that sank deep into her bones though the night was pleasant. Were it another time, Madam Pomfrey might have strolled the courtyards rather than this hideous location. They passed through the end of the tunnel, into darkness.

Inside was stripped and peeling wallpaper, cobwebs, rickety steps that groaned with the threat of giving away, and she could almost feel the dust in her nose. Hermione pulled out her wand and lit the way for them as she passed Madam Pomfrey on the stairs. Her usually strong hands shook, causing the light from the end of her wand to bounce a little. On arriving at the second level, a black-clad figure lay against the far wall in a pool of his sticky blood.

Severus Snape looked as still as she'd ever seen him. Not that he was a particularly animated man, of course. His spells were like his wardrobe; crisp and simple. A man like Severus had no need for flamboyance. Madam Pomfrey let out her sigh as Hermione dabbed at her eyes again. He lay there like a discarded doll.

She kneeled down and looked him over before pausing. Could it be? Madam Pomfrey thought it perhaps a trick of the soft glow from the wand but she saw it was entirely true--the chest of Severus Snape heaved with breath and life.

"Merlin...he's alive!" Madam Pomfrey gasped. Hermione lunged forward to confirm it for herself, and then after a few seconds she let out a surprised laugh. His chest bent inwards as that long breath was released. Thinking on her feet, Madam Pomfrey turned to Hermione and grabbed at her leg. Hermione squeaked and jumped in shock but her attention was fully given. "Stay here with him, I'll hurry back with supplies!"

"I-I can go! What do we need? Surely you're needed more than I am?" Hermione said while she kneeled to Madam Pomfrey's side. Her wand's low gave the sallow, death-colored face a ghostly blue hue to it. If Severus could hear them he was not going to show it. Madam Pomfrey shook her head as she stood, her own wand working to cast protective spells over Severus' limp frame.

Some of Madam Pomfrey's best spellwork was her containment charms that she layered like blankets over him. During her education at St. Mungo's, Madam Pomfrey spent an awful lot of time with triage, learning how to turn a person into a self-contained unit. Any infections, curses, diseases they may have were not getting through her spellwork. She couldn't take any chances, knowing that he'd been killed by the Dark Lord. What horrific death had Severus barely escaped?

"This is time sensitive and I know where my supplies are. I'll be right back—hello?" Madam Pomfrey said, whirling about. There were heavy boots behind her, approaching at a slow pace. A sweat began to form at the nape of her neck. Somebody was coming, but only the two of them knew about Severus' location. Hermione stood and raised her wand toward the door with a new firmness in her arm. A groan from behind the women indicated Severus was waking, but they did not turn toward him.

"Is that Severus Snape?" a voice called out from the stairwell, just beyond sight. In the darkness of the Shrieking Shack, not even wand light touched the person. Madam Pomfrey raised her own wand, a hand on Hermione's free arm.

"Who is that?"

"The Dark Lord will live again."

The room erupted into a flurry of magic and motion. Hermione's arm swung to deflect the oncoming spell, knocking it behind her with something like a tennis serve while Madam Pomfrey attempted to do something much different. She tried to Apparate, and something in the middle went horribly wrong.

As she was ripped from the room in the Shrieking Shack, Madam Pomfrey was tossed unceremoniously into the space between Here and There, her body slamming into the ground somewhere just north of the castle. A few students trained their wands on her immediately, still on edge. Hagrid came bounding up to her in a few short strides as he commanded students to put their wands down. Madam Pomfrey came to her senses and looked about like a lost child.

"Ma'am Pomfrey! What happened to yer?" Hagrid said as he heaved her up with one big hand. Madam Pomfrey was standing in no time, but her legs were shaky. A frustrated scream boiled from inside her and leaped out in a burst, causing Hagrid to recoil in shock. "Are yer hurt?"

"Damn it! Damn it, no! They're both gone and I lost them!" Madam Pomfrey cried out in a furious wail, her fists balled at her sides. Hagrid's eyes were wide as he watched her tantrum. Knowing that time was literally of the essence, she pushed past Hagrid and ran toward the castle as fast as her feet would let her. Hagrid kept stride in a half-jog.

"Who, Poppy?"

"Hermione Granger and Severus Snape! I have to speak with McGonagall, now!"

***

Severus could feel the chill of his fingers but not much else. A light glittered from just past his eyelids, the pale beams just attracting his senses. So, no rest for the wicked. He felt heavy, chained down by a weight, like all the bricks in Astronomy Tower were keeping him in place. Severus felt a deep fire in his gut and the wound at his neck ached like hell. He heard a gentle gasp in front of his face that would have startled him had he still had the energy to react.

A voice, Madam Pomfrey maybe, declared him alive, but Severus felt only alive in the strictest of terms. Another soft voice joined in that seemed almost familiar to Severus but he couldn’t quite place it.

Without warning, a hot prickling he knew all too well came over his left forearm. Somebody was trying to find him through his Dark Mark. But...wasn't Potter supposed to defeat Voldemort? The Mark shouldn't work any longer, unless Potter failed them all.

 _Move, you sniveling worm!_ Severus urged himself. He struggled even to open his eyelids but was unable to do so himself. From deep in his chest he was able to let out a soft groan, hoping to tell Madam Pomfrey and her assistant to flee. _No more slaughter today, please._

“Hello?” Madam Pomfrey called out. A voice from someplace unseen murmured out the words _Severus_ _Snape_. Fighting against the heavy magics layered over him, Severus lifted his head with force and was able to crack open his eyes. Two blurred shapes stood in front of him, their wands pointed into the darkness beyond the doorway.

_“The Dark Lord will live again.”_

The room was illuminated so quickly Severus had to fight the urge to close his eyes to the flashing brightness. Bolts of blue shot from the darkness at the figure in front of him, and she used her wand to deflect…but somehow threw it backwards instead of forward. She must have learned that sloppy defense spell-work from the D.A., without a doubt. It collided with Severus so powerfully he could feel the lifting of the containment magics begin, but it was too late to fix what came next.

Madam Pomfrey started her Apparating—but it warped and bent the entire room. Severus was overcome with the fear of being spliced, so with his remaining strength to push against the containment charms he latched onto the wrist of the young woman in front of him.

Severus was thrown through the room as the world around him spun and stretched. The expected hook-behind-the-navel feeling was not there, but rather it felt like his whole body was being dragged down through a never-ending sea of pressure. Just when it seemed like it was all too much to bear, Severus collided with the earth, firm and unforgiving against his already pain-wracked body.

Beneath himself he could feel wet fresh grasses. From above he could see a swirl of grey and afternoon gold that had started to sprinkle from the distant black clouds. Under Severus’ left arm was a wrist leading into the winded figure of Hermione Granger as she struggled to catch her breath. As the sky started to bring the rain onto them, Severus’ world fell black again.


	2. Chapter 2

No good deed goes unpunished. Hermione knew this, she remembered when her mother said it to her once as a child. Sometimes, doing the right thing makes everything worse. This was apparent as she lay in the field, choking on air from being thrown so hard against the ground. She fought to sit upright against the ache in her ribs and disorientation.

To her left, a flock of sheep eyed her warily while chewing on wet grass and bleating at her for her intrusion. They grazed on a sloping hill that had an old yellow stone wall and some wooden stakes as their only boundary, huddled under the remnants of a long-dead oak tree. Beyond that, the hills rolled on as far as the eye could see. Gold shimmered between the horizon and the distant clouds, promising warm skies rather than the sprinkle that had started up over her.

To her right, the pale outstretched hand of Severus Snape lay open as if reaching for her. His sallow face took the gentle kiss of the rain without a flinch, and one could think he was sleeping peacefully. Hermione felt herself start at the sight of the professor-turned-traitor lying in the grass so disheveled and limp. With sudden urgency, she crawled to his side to feel at the unwounded side of his neck. Once she’d searched for a pulse Hermione’s shoulders slumped with relief. His pulse was steady, but weak. She had to get help.

Hermione looked around as if expecting to see Madam Pomfrey in the dale with them. She swallowed the lump in her throat and realized she was alone. Professor Snape was unable to help her now, and for the most part she had no idea where they were. And now, Hermione realized, she didn’t have her wand. She patted around the long healthy grass for the familiar stick of wood to no avail.

With sudden inspiration, Hermione turned back to Professor Snape—losing her courage when she saw him again. He neither moved or reacted to the rain happening more frequently now, so she shouldn't wake him by digging in his pockets, right? But it felt so foreign to be stealing from a professor... _no, not stealing_ , Hermione reminded herself swiftly. _You need the wand, just grab it!_

Hermione tried to think. Was he right, or left-handed? Taking a wild guess, she assumed he was right-handed and reached into his left pocket, the easiest place to draw a wand from. Hermione had once studied that medieval wizards who walked with a lady made sure they were on the right, so they could draw a wand from their left side without fear of hitting her with a spell during a rapid duel. Sure enough, the baton-style wand was there, along with a few empty potion bottles that clinked together when she jostled his pocket.

In the distance, a low rumble indicating an approaching storm commanded her attention, but when she turned she realized it was in fact a person on horseback coming to meet them. He looked straight out of a tapestry from Hogwarts, if any more of those still existed after the battle.

The figure wore a dark mantle of unrefined wool, probably from the sheep beside Hermione, and a linen shirt with billowy sleeves atop old-fashioned breeches, like the gritty version of one of those Muggle romance novels Hermione's aunt used to read from time to time.

Great—a Muggle. Unbothered, Hermione grabbed the wand and kneeled down beside Professor Snape and grabbed at his chilled hand. _No matter,_ thought Hermione, as she envisioned the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Hermione refused to let her fear stop her from Apparating home. If the Ministry got onto her case about using magic in sight of a Muggle, she'd just explain the situation.

Nothing. No hook behind her navel, no feeling of being squeezed through a bottle—there was nothing. She took in another deep breath and thought of the fire, the warmth, the four towering walls...

“Damn it,” Hermione muttered, feeling her heart sink. She couldn’t Apparate. Something was preventing her. Hermione was not concerned with the technicalities of Apparition, thanks to her extra lessons in Hogsmeade. In fact, she was very good at it. She’d escaped the Death-Eater infiltration of Fleur and Charlie’s wedding after all. Even her disastrous side-along Apparition where Ron was gravely splinched hadn’t stopped her from perfecting her technique. Now there was not even a trace of magic.

That was about the moment Hermione realized they were in deeper trouble than just being far away from Hogwarts. She was stuck between making the wrong choice, or having to Obliterate this Muggle's memory of her and Professor Snape. Hermione's mind worked through her exhaustion sluggishly as she tried to make do with what was at her disposal. She glanced down at her pants, knowing there wasn't enough material to make anything new with her torn black jeans when Professor Snape's long robes caught her eye.

"Sorry, Professor. _Diffindo_!" Hermione hissed, slicing away the lower half of his robes. She mended the edges as best as she could, then got to work on her denim jacket and faded pink hooded jumper.

By the time the figure had crossed the hill, Hermione was now dressed in her closest approximation to a pair of black riding pants, courtesy of Professor Snape's cloak, a cotton blouse with leg-o-mutton sleeves, and her denim jacket had become a bolero with the remaining fabric being used as a belt across the middle of her waist to stow a wand. Professor Snape looked like a minister as it was, so Hermione left his remaining wardrobe intact.

Hermione knew how to lie now, having spent so much time either covering for Harry's exploits or being on the run herself, so she stood and waved her hands back and forth as if to call over the horseback rider who was clearly already approaching. Up close, the figure resembled a teenager closer in age to Fleur's little sister Gabrielle. From the center of his reddish skinned face were dominating blue eyes that peered out from under a wild nest of curly brown hair.

"This is private land," the youth informed with surprising authority. He reached behind him and pulled a crook from the side of his saddle, using it to jerk open the fence while staring Hermione and Professor Snape down. "Get him up."

"P-Please," Hermione started, thinking in overtime. "We've lost our horses, and we're under attack by highwaymen," Hermione said, stepping aside to show the rider Professor Snape in better form. The youth got one good look at the bloody side of Professor Snape's neck and jerked his reins back while turning a wicked shade of green. "Please help us, we need a ride to the nearest town," Hermione implored even as the youth retreated.

"Gideon, here boy!" the young man called, and a black and white collie leaped past them and began to herd the sheep through the open fence with gentle prodding from his teeth. Once all the sheep had vacated the pasture the young man clambered down from the top of his horse to get closer to Professor Snape.

He glanced up suspiciously at Hermione once before proceeding to lean in further to look at the clotted blood being slowly revitalized by the rain. In the wide band of her belt, Hermione gently touched the edge of the borrowed wand in preparation in case...well, anything.

The boy couldn’t seem to decide whether to grab Severus or not. When he finally stooped down to grab at the shoulders of his body Hermione felt her throat squeeze with words of caution. But she had nothing to fear, as the boy made sure to support Severus’ head with his chest.

When the rain began to pick up and trickle down the face and shoulders of her new guardian angel, he looked up at her through the falling drops at her expectantly. She stumbled her way over to Severus’ legs. Hermione felt her muscles protest in exhaustion. For her, a battle had just happened not too long ago that she hadn’t even rested from. She feared she would drop Professor Snape's limp legs.

"Lift and walk with me," the young man commanded, though not rudely. It didn't make Hermione's neck bristle at least. "We'll get him up on Rachael, and take him to my house."

"But we need a doctor—"

"The town is too far, we've got a storm coming. My sister's husband can help," he deflected, pursing his lips as he bravely leaned in to grab Professor Snape's shoulders despite his plain desire to do literally anything else. The boy chewed the ends of his chapped lips while glancing between Hermione, the horse, and the storm that was growing ever closer from the east while they lifted Professor Snape up. Had the sky gotten even darker?

Hermione half-groaned while trying to raise the dead weight of Professor Snape's legs up higher so that the young boy could delicately work the limp body into the saddle. Impressively, the boy found a stone against the pasture wall he could stand on to elevate them, partially climbing up to rest Professor Snape against the back of the horse's neck.

“What…what happened?” the boy asked, his eyes squinted against the rain while he shuffled Professor Snape's upper half into the saddle. He looked wild and like a country bumpkin with his sun-made freckles and uncombed hair. Seeing this boy no older than fifteen up close made Hermione feel like this was maybe a little too much for the young man who was not like her. He was not used to the things she’d seen and the places she’d been.

"Highwaymen," Hermione explained briefly. "Took the horses, our bags, everything. They cut him when he refused and left us stranded." That's enough, Hermione cautioned herself. She didn't want to be caught in a lie she couldn't get out of.

Hermione wished then, probably for the first time ever, that Professor Snape was there to help her. He seemed to always have an invisible wall up to keep himself separate from everyone. To see him so vulnerable felt like a breach of student-teacher etiquette, but when had he been her teacher last? Since the war started, they’d effectively been enemies. And to be completely honest, he'd never exactly been kind to Hermione in her scholastic career.

“Come here, then,” the boy said with a leap up onto the tall horse. Rachel, the horse, had to re-balance to her new load and gave off an annoyed whinny. Hermione felt herself recoil from the sudden movement of the horse, but the boy offered a hand for her to grasp. Though he was young, he had large calluses and the fingers were broad, reminding her of Hagrid. Hermione wobbled as the saddle tilted a little back and forth, but the roar of nearby thunder served as a reminder that Professor Snape was running out of time.

Before she could even figure out how to swing her leg over to ride forward facing between the boy and Professor Snape, the horse’s master was sending his mount back into the center of the storm. Hermione gripped at the horn of the saddle while trying to keep a free arm around the limp torso in front of her. _Hang on, Professor._ Hermione willed herself to lean into the gallop. _Just hang on._

They raced east for about ten long minutes. Ahead of them, the collie was finishing its task of moving the sheep from the gated pasture toward a barn that had come into view from the top of the hill. There also sat a small stone home not unlike the cottage that Bill and Fleur Weasley lived at, the same one where Dobby was buried.

Hermione braced herself against the wet fabric of Professor Snape’s robes and wished for once she could just melt away with the rain. She was far too tired for all of this. Hermione felt Rachel pull and jerk as the boy behind her brought her to a halt in front of the house. With another piercing whistle, the boy jumped from the tall saddle with ease and led Rachel under an overhang of the porch to protect the other riders from the rain.

As he was helping Hermione down, a woman with the same curly hair pulled back into a wispy coil peered around the doorstep, her eyes guarded against the scene, and her hands grabbing at something hidden in the folds of her plain grey skirt. She had the same brilliant blue eyes that seemed to leave a fire of its own on Hermione’s face.

“Matthew! What in God’s name are you doing?” Her voice was a low boom that felt like the storm overhead. Matthew, the boy now trying to gently topple Professor Snape from the saddle, looked over his shoulder pleadingly.

“Mum, I found them in the pasture, they’re hurt—” Matthew tried, revealing the blood at Professor Snape’s neck. Without warning the woman’s face washed out into a pale tone and she covered her mouth with her hand. When she lifted that hand to her face, Hermione could see the hilt of a small dagger on the belt of the woman. With a cursory glance over at Hermione and her strange clothes, she pointed to Hermione and then toward the barn.

“Girl, go tell Timothy that Martha sent you for help. We’ll get him inside,” the woman said, rushing to Matthew's side as Rachel began to move around uneasily. Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief…but there was more to do.

She rushed behind the house to the barn where a man was herding in the sheep from the rain. He seemed startled to see Hermione running up to him, but running out of breath she pointed back at the house. His face was far fairer than Matthew or Martha’s, without the sun damage that was apparent on their work-worn cheeks, and his hair was a soft blonde.

Once Hermione panted out that Martha had summoned him, he closed the fence behind the last of the crying sheep and raced back down toward the house. Hermione followed, walking along rather than running. She was just too tired.

While Hermione was promising herself just a quick rest at the house, she could hear the approaching shush of the grass moving past somebody’s feet. What now? Hermione looked up under the hood of the mantle and saw Matthew, pushing back his messy hair with one hand as it dripped. He extended a new, dry cloak toward Hermione. As she tugged it on, Matthew walked back to the house with her, though there was no urgency now. Hermione had done what she can, for now.

"Are you alright?" Matthew asked, and Hermione was forced to shrug, tiredly. Was she? Hermione didn't know when the last time she was alright even was.

"I have to be, until we can leave."

"Before you go...somebody is going to have to explain everything,” Matthew reminded in a low voice. Hermione tightened her lips. Yes, someone would. And soon.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a scream. It was close, and it rang through Severus’ ears but he couldn’t pin it down. Nagini flashed through his mind and for a moment he thought he could see her lunging at him again and again—

"Mr. Strong! _Mr_. _Strong_!"

A sharp voice cut through the screaming, distracting Severus enough to stop fighting the blankets draped over him. When his attention had been directed to the young woman at his side, he realized the screaming was in fact him. Severus panted and came back to reality. He blinked in the dim lights of the lantern at the bedside. He was in a stone-walled room with a young boy in a corner chair that he had also woken with his scream, a man maybe a little younger than Severus himself on his right wiping off his bloody fingers, and finally there was Hermione Granger beside him.

“Thank goodness, sir,” Hermione said, rising to sit on the bed beside him. Severus instantly wanted to recoil from what seemed to be a horrific nightmare. She was in old-fashioned clothes, but her face was pale and peppered with scratches and her eyes were ringed in dark blue circles, indicating this wasn’t some strange dream of his.

Her trademark wild hair had been wrestled back into a knot at the base of her neck. A loose blouse and dark grey skirt replaced the pink jumper and trousers she had been wearing when they’d arrived in the field, but it was very obviously Hermione Granger. Severus took a hand and wiped up the sweat that collected in his dark hairline.

“Where…where have we gone?” Severus croaked out. His neck felt tight, and when he raised a hand to touch the attack wounds the blonde man started up his hands to stop him, but Hermione got to him first.

"We were attacked by the highwaymen, when we were headed east. They took everything, sir. I'm sorry, Mr. Strong," Hermione apologized as if deeply concerned. She was good at this. "It's all... _Muggled_ up, I'm afraid," Hermione intoned.

So, they were stuck around Muggles. Severus felt his face twitch in frustration. Why had she not simply Apparated them away? She was not such a goody-goody that she could not see this was the greater of two evils? If she was afraid of Muggles seeing magic, she should have just let him die. With a sigh, Severus shooed Hermione from the side of his bed. To his surprise, she now looked genuinely hurt.

"Of course, it is," Severus half-hissed. “I barely remember myself. Where are we?” Severus asked again. The blonde man glanced at Severus with a guarded expression. A woman who was a mirror image of the young boy in the chair furthest from his bed leaned around the doorway, her arms folded as if to keep herself at bay. In a distant room, a small baby was crying. The scene seemed like a classical painting, but more real and nightmarish.

“Mr. Strong, you’re in the Cotswolds, near Moreton-in-the-Marsh. My name is Timothy Norton. Miss Good has done much to ensure your safe arrival here," Timothy paused. "She, however, cannot tell me why she's here in Moreton instead of London, where she says you're from. I was hoping that you might.”

Severus noted that Timothy had the same authority that Dumbledore had when he asked questions, but only half the inherently kind attitude. His eyes had a similar soul-punching stare that came through like a dark beam in the glow of the candlelight.

Around them in the sparse living quarters were a few books, a desk and dresser where candles perched and threw light around the room, and a single cross hanging above the door. The young man in the seat behind Timothy was watching the scene while chewing at his fingertips, his eyes darting between the back of Hermione’s head and Severus’ face. He seemed to be constantly on the edge of the chair as if prepared to run.

His clothes were the most telling about the whole fiasco—he looked like a genuine peasant boy. Not even Severus had been dressed so shabbily in his childhood. Well, him and Timothy, whose button down vest gave way to classic breeches, but was topped with a tucked-in neckerchief like how Severus wore his own black tie.

Severus fought to sit upright in the bed, his muscles stiff against exhaustion. Though, he must have slept for some time because he had no recollection of how he got to the small farmhouse, and embarrassingly enough his clothes had been changed from his usual robes to a long tan nightshirt. Had he been carried by Hermione to the home?

Severus looked at the boy who regarded him with a familiar expression; fear. Some things never change. While he took his time getting comfortable he thought of all the choices he had in front of him.

"I apologize," Severus began icily, turning to Hermione. "Had I known Miss Good was such a dullard, I wouldn't have her here with me.”

While Hermione was obviously struggling to not shrink away, Timothy made a steeple of his fingers on the edge of his knee and watched Severus. Those flat brown eyes hardly blinked. Severus could almost imagine that this Muggle was trying on his own form of Occlumency with a strong gaze that would not break.

“We’re not performing an inquiry, Mr. Strong. We would like to assist your return home. Yet, we cannot find paperwork for you on either of your persons,” Timothy said evenly with a glance at Hermione that was more-so acknowledging her presence than questioning. “No tickets, no bags, and nothing more than Miss Good’s insistence that I wait for you to wake for any questions. And...it’s just you two, out here?”

Severus felt his brow narrow at what he guessed Timothy was implying. “As Miss Good mentioned, we were robbed by highwaymen. And she is absolutely required to insist that if I am indisposed, that I be waited for. That is her _job_.”

“And your job, sir?”

“I was getting there,” Severus replied, noticing then that Hermione was drawing herself upright to speak. “Miss Good?” Severus prompted, trying not to draw the ridiculous pseudonym out. And what had she called him? Strong? What a stupid name. Though, his given name wasn't particularly common.

“Might I check your coat for a business card?” Hermione asked. Severus blinked.

“I don’t know why you didn’t earlier, and save me the hassle,” Severus gritted his teeth.

With a smooth rise from the side of the bed, and an apologetic glance toward Timothy, she reached into the hanging remnants of his cloak and dug around the pocket for a brief moment before producing a weathered rectangle of card stock. Timothy took it from her with interest while peering in on the faded type of the bone-white card.

“So, 'Severus Strong, Paranormal Investigations’? What are you doing here, in Morenton?” At the mention of the paranormal, the boy in the corner perked up and glanced between Hermione and Severus. He seemed to be most awake now—practically leaning out of the chair.

“Are you here about the black dog?” the boy asked, eliciting a groan from the woman who Severus assumed was his mother in the doorway. “Mum, I _told_ you!”

“Matthew, go help you sister,” the woman demanded. Without another word Matthew rose and exited the room. While this exchange took up everyone’s attention, Severus caught the faintest nod from Hermione urging him to go along.

Severus fought the urge to snort. What a ridiculous plan, almost as stupid as these superstitious Muggles. Timothy turned over the card and read out an address that Severus was not familiar with, and handed the card back to Hermione who dutifully slipped it back into Severus’ robe pocket. There was still the mystery of where the rest of his cloak went that Severus would have to figure out later. Did Hermione take it? But for what! And how had she taken half his bloody robes?!

“We’re skeptics,” Severus started, giving themselves a clear label. He didn’t want this educated man to think he was a loon. “We investigate reports for fraudulent activity, fear-mongering, and turn those responsible to the authorities. You wouldn’t believe how much people will pay to see fictional creatures. A man recently tried to pass off a mummified monkey sewn to half of a trout as a mermaid,” Severus said, recalling his knowledge of what Muggles have done historically for their freak shows and quick money.

At this, Timothy half-glanced backward to the woman in the doorway who had the nasty habit of chewing at her lower lip. Her face was darkened, somewhere between distrust and sadness. Severus almost wondered what it was. Of course, Timothy took in a deep breath as if to cleanly punctuate that thought.

“I don’t know about any of that, but I don’t go out after dark. The Cotswolds aren’t dangerous because of some black dog; they’re a hazard to walk through at night. Martha, they should stay,” Timothy sighed over his shoulder.

Martha seemed on edge. Her eyes bounced back and forth between Severus and Hermione, then to Timothy with an exasperated face. Timothy held his ground and refused to move as if a sign that his opinion would not budge. Just when Severus was certain she’d deny, Martha’s head bobbed up and down a few crisp times. Hermione let out a tiny sigh of relief.

“Fine. But just for the night. I’m sorry about your troubles, but we can’t have you stay long.” Martha then retreated, her eyes still fixated on Severus until she’d disappeared around the corner. Hermione smiled at Timothy who lifted his candlestick and nodded to both Severus and Hermione.

“I wish you both a good night, and I’ll be back to check the sutures in the morning,” Timothy said with another wipe at his fingers. Beside Severus, Hermione tried to stifle a yawn with little success. “Miss Good, you’re welcome to take the spare bedding into the front, where it will be warm tonight.”

Hermione wiped her face again while thanking Timothy tiredly, going over the mess of raw scratches and dirt on her face with the heel of her palm. It was probably adding to their story that she looked as disheveled as she did. And if she looked like she’d just been robbed, Severus was glad nobody important could himself right now.

When had he seen her last? Oh, yes. In that rotten old Shack, with Potter. She passed him the flask that held his memories. How had they gotten here? He needed answers to the vital questions, like the events leading to the field—and of course what had she done to his favorite cloak. It wasn’t like he had all the money in the world on a teachers’ salary, but he wasn’t big on clothes shopping anyway; one good, black cloak for all his needs should do!

“Miss Good, we need to figure out our next course of action before the morning. If you don’t mind,” Severus added, unused to having to ask permission from anyone, let alone Hermione Granger, former student and Potter fanclub member for life. He wondered dourly if she relished this control over the situation like James Potter would have.

Hermione nodded graciously and Timothy excused himself to set up the bed for her. As soon as he passed out of the threshold, Hermione whipped out Severus’ wand from her waistband and passed it to him where he tucked it under the thick blanket beside him. At least that was done right!

Severus pointed his wand discreetly from under the covers and waved it toward the door with a muttering that brought on a distant hum at the threshold of the room to keep out listening ears. Hermione looked at her hands for a moment before adjusting her shoulders a little higher though her exhaustion was evident. _This ought to be good_ , Severus thought to himself.

“It’s a wonder we’re not being tossed out into the marshes of this backwater wasteland because of your stupidity!” Severus shot, fighting the waves of his own tired body protesting against wakefulness. A dull throb was starting up in the base of his skull that egged him on further. With another snap of his wand, the business card that Hermione produced from his pocket flew into his hand.

“I suppose you created this,” Severus almost asked while holding it up, but he already knew the answer and his frustration was boiling over. “It is a fine cover, if you’re an idiot. And how did you secure this address? Surely we cannot simply show up and presume to be the owners of the home, unless you intend on Obliterating Muggle’s memories, which is more likely to get us caught by the Ministry of Magic than just Apparating away like you’re supposed to, Granger!”

“It’s Good, Henrietta Good. And I’ve had a very long day, and the date is May 2nd, 1888,” Hermione said with an irritable wipe at her face. Henrietta? Severus wanted to gag. What a ridiculous name. 1888. Hogwarts, Voldemort, Severus’ so-called life was over a hundred years away.

But Hermione wasn’t done, apparently. “The address is an orphanage, and it was converted into a school in the fifties. I went to primary school there. And yes—I made it, with your borrowed wand and a scrap of paper because it was all I had,” Hermione shot back, her shoulders squaring as her tired face became hard.

“And by the way, you were lying in a pasture, half-dead! What else could I do? ‘Excuse me, I’m a witch and this is a wizard, we just left a war and we’ve been blasted a century in the past. Something is preventing me from just poofing away _like_ _I’m supposed to_ , do you think I could borrow a horse?’ Because that would go over so very well! Timothy and Martha have been extremely kind about not asking too many questions,” Hermione said, the pitch in her voice increasing with anger.

“They will, and when we do we’d better have a good story—not that crock of absolute garbage you pulled from thin air. Investigating the supernatural? What do you take these people for? Fools like Weasley and Potter?”

“Don’t you dare speak about Harry that way!” Hermione commanded, her voice still half a whisper but now more like a low warning. All the deep tones that had been absent in her face were back in a flash. “You have no idea what he did to save everyone! Harry Potter gave his life to defeat Voldemort and was already working to clear your name as soon as it was over! Nobody else but Madam Pomfrey would help me bring you back from the Shrieking Shack, nobody else knows why you had to end Dumbledore’s life except Harry—”

“Enough!” Severus snarled. Hermione bit at her cheek to keep herself in check. “Don’t speak to me about sacrifice, you insolent girl. I suppose you think it was just an easy out for me to be nearly killed by The Dark Lord? Do you think me as noble as your precious Potter? I didn’t just give my life—I gave my very _soul_ to the Dark Lord for years, and Dumbledore!” Severus challenged. Hermione glared down at him, crossing her arms over her chest almost violently, like she was trying to smother her anger.

So the war was over. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, really did it. And to top it off he didn’t even have to die permanently, at least. Severus felt oddly jealous. If he could do it, why couldn’t Lily have done it without needing to die? Although none of this explained the burning from the Dark Mark, if he had truly succeeded.

Severus swallowed and rubbed at his eyes. The candlelight was playing tricks on him. He almost swore he could have seen Lily just now where Hermione was, staring down at him disapprovingly. Of course, the differences between Hermione and Lily were so great that it was laughable that he could mistake one for the other. He felt tired again. But didn’t he just wake? Of course, almost dying took a lot out of anyone, Severus imagined.

Hermione simply waited as Severus adjusted himself in the bed while trying not to move his neck. He would have just performed the healing spell he used on Draco Malfoy after Potter had attacked him with Sectumsempra, but how would he explain that? Severus knew that he had to be smart with his magic. He would heal himself when they departed.

What could be preventing Hermione from Apparating? It wasn’t likely to be her personal ability—she seemed to thrive on being able to do what others couldn’t. Severus almost considered giving it a test go, but if he did the whole house would be alerted to the obnoxious sound.

Also, as much as he would be fine on his own, to abandon Hermione Granger would cast a very bad light on him once he returned home. If he was caught by the current Ministry of Magic, they would also probably not take well to the idea of him abandoning a fellow witch without a wand or a way to get herself home.

“For all your seemingly proud intelligence, you can only recite book answers; you are obviously not capable of planning or original thought,” Severus cut. Hermione watched him with no more fear or hurt, just exhaustion. “Tomorrow we will go to London. We need to be near other wizards and witches—people who can understand our situation. If at all possible, we need to secure transport to Diagon Alley as soon as we can.”

Silence. Hermione stared at him some more, almost daring him to say anything cruel to her again, but then relinquished with a slow turn of her head away. Like she couldn’t be bothered to listen to him any longer. She rose and picked up her skirt to prevent walking on it, though only slightly as her black boots were still visible under the edge.

Severus wanted to scream. This just got worse and worse. Had they been caught in their normal clothes? Obviously her outfit was made from borrowed things—only Severus’ cloak remained, hanging on a hook in the bedroom. But he didn’t want to scream, and yell, and spend all night telling Hermione every little thing she’d done wrong. He only wished to sleep again.

“I did the best I could, sir,” Hermione offered. Severus closed his eyes and reached out to pinch the flame candle beside his bed, then blew on the hot pads of his fingers. When he didn’t reply to her pathetic attempt to play on his sympathies, or lack thereof, she exited the room while gently closing the door after herself. _Finally_.

Whether it be relief, anger, despair at their situation, a tear found itself from under his closed eyelids and ran down either side of his temples and into the hairline around his ears. He could hear each tear as it moved along, the only sound in this room besides his breathing, and with that alone Severus was able to drift off into a restless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, so I am still working out what day is best to update, and I'm considering a twice a week update in order to post faster, due to real-life obligations upcoming soon and I wouldn't want to slack on posting! If I update twice, it'll be between Tuesday and Saturday.

* * *

Hermione spent her time staring at the coals that night, watching them go from nearly white to a deep maroon. The embers glittered and shimmered for a while under black edges until just those rocks remained. The waves of heat they gave off permeated the thin night dress Sarah had begrudgingly offered her. The house had gone quiet long ago, and the storm had passed without much ceremony. Still, Hermione felt her brain buzzing.

She remembered the stress from just a few hours ago, the worry as she sat in her makeshift costume, wet and tired while trying to figure out a lie that would work. When Matthew kindly offered her a Bible to read while Martha and Timothy tried to stop the bleeding, she waited until he was out of the room and ripped a page from the very back to transfigure it into something useful.

Gamp's Law of Transfiguration said you could not create something from nothing, but to change it was more than possible. She did it in the field when she fixed her trousers, made a riding top, and now she could make a business card. But what to put on it? What would explain it? Hermione once read that all lies have a center of truth. If the truth was magic, and they were looking for a way home, why couldn’t she make the two join? They were looking for magic.

But their names—if anyone was looking for them, what would she say? It wasn’t as if Snape was a common name, and there was no way they were buying that she was the investigator of a paranormal business. Slavery had been abolished in England half a century from where they’d landed, but that didn’t mean she could just do anything she liked. So, she conjured new identities; Strong, after Professor Snape’s strong will, and Good, after Hermione’s good character.

Of course, there was the great difference between looking the part and fitting in, even after she’d planted her false evidence in Professor Snape’s coat again. Timothy had come out at one point, trying to interrogate her. Hermione didn’t want to get caught in a lie, so she swallowed her pride and repeatedly deferred to her ‘employer’, interrupting as often as she could to ask if he was recovering. Obviously, it was a delicate subject. Hermione was glad that this family was not...adverse to her.

At one point, a young woman with the curliest hair of all, almost as thick as Hermione’s hair came out from the furthest room to see what all the commotion was about. She carried a baby in her arms no older than a year that she bounced with ease.

Matthew made the introduction in a single sentence as he brought more water into the makeshift infirmary from the pump outside. The new mother was Sarah, Matthew’s sister, and the baby was Little Timothy. Hermione replied with her false name for the very first time. It felt easy to say.

"Sarah—could you bring Henrietta something dry? Give her a blanket, too," Matthew huffed while he hiked up the bucket in his arms before disappearing once more into the room where Professor Snape was. Sarah gave him a reproachful look, but then drew herself out of the chair and took the baby with her to a back room, returning with a tight look on her face and a very worn out set of clothes.

“You can change in the first room. If you bring your clothes, you can hang them here by the fire," Sarah huffed while looking at the spot Matthew last occupied as if she could still glare at him.

Without any other explanation, Hermione took the heavy, well-worn skirt and plain blouse into the other room, a small room that probably housed Matthew, by the looks of it. Once she returned, Sarah directed her to the cluster of nails in the grout where she could hang up her strange clothes. An awkward silence permeated the room, even though it was just the two women.

Hermione asked if she could be granted entry into the room where Martha and Timothy were working to save Professor Snape, who she called Mr. Strong, but Sarah pulled in her lips for a moment before suggesting otherwise.

“My husband can handle anything. He was a doctor for Her Majesty’s Army for a short time,” Sarah said, bouncing Little Timothy in her arms. She kept her face close, protectively hovering and peering over the swaddled baby at Hermione. Sarah seemed to drink in the color of Hermione’s skin with every passing glance. “Your master will be fine—”

“He’s _not_ my master,” Hermione felt herself snap. Sarah pulled back in shock at her outburst. This was no good; she had to play along somehow. "I-I don't really know myself right now, forgive me."

"I...apologize," Sarah said, straightening her back and motioning to the dining room table behind them. "Let's sit. I'll make tea."

"I'll put on the tea," Hermione said with a glance at the baby in Sarah's grasp that gave off sleepy babbles. Sarah probably had enough on her plate. As Hermione fumbled to drag the heavy kettle of pewter over the fire on an old swinging arm, she soaked in the warmth of the fire as it started to burn away the cold in her bones. Sarah seemed to follow the shape of Hermione without subtlety, and gawked at her in all fairness.

And what could she say? Hermione felt the heat on her hands as she reached deeper into the fireplace with the poker and dragged them across the embers to bring back those waves of warmth. It was already assumed she was his servant, of course, not an equal. Should she have just let it go? It might have been easier to explain.

Now, it was her turn to wait. As the girls sipped their tea, Sarah would try to gently question Hermione who was going to continue with her insistence that Mr. Strong should be present. Timothy was a little harder to convince once he'd come out to inform Hermione that Professor Snape would live, but otherwise he didn't pressure too far.

A few hours later, as Timothy was re-dressing the bandages, Professor Snape had woken. Hermione imagined he might be happy to see he was not alone here—but perhaps, her wishful thinking had been too much. The first moment they had without witnesses had been him demeaning her and insulting her. No question about their current situation or the war, just telling her she was stupid.

Hermione Granger was not stupid, and she knew better than to seek Professor Snape’s approval. Maybe she wanted a little appreciation, for saving his life, but other than that she expected nothing except his cooperation! Perhaps paranormal investigations were too modern of a concept. Muggles where she was from did it for fun, walking around cemeteries with old radios, hoping to pick up voices of the dead. But she certainly didn’t think it was as ridiculous as Professor Snape thought. What would he have done, if their roles were reversed?

In all honesty, Hermione didn’t want to think about it. All signs pointed to the reality that if it were reversed Professor Snape would abandon her to save himself. From the war, that was what she had gleaned from him. He was never part of the Order of the Phoenix because he cared about the greater good—it was carry-over from the first wizarding war. It had just become a habit for Professor Snape to double-deal between Dumbledore and Voldemort. No, he was most certainly not as noble as Harry.

Thankfully, he hadn’t tried to leave the room in the middle of the night. Hermione had positioned herself on the quilted sleeping mat in such a way that she could watch the fire to her left while also keeping an eye on the door off to the right. In fact, it startled her when she heard the creak of a door but didn’t see Professor Snape’s room open. Without a wand Hermione felt naked, so she bundled her hand into a fist just in case.

When Matthew saw her sitting up beside the fire, he jumped as if she had scared him half to death! He was wearing his mantle from earlier and he carried a lantern that wasn’t yet lit. In his other hand was a small axe that he kept adjusting in his grip.

“Matthew, what are you doing?” Hermione whispered. Matthew’s hand flew up to shush her so fast she was sure he was going to knock his own face with the butt of the axe. He threw a look over his shoulder as if waiting for his mother to come barreling down the hall. What was it with boys and sneaking out? Matthew tip-toed over to her and placed another log atop the fading embers.

“I’m going to get some more firewood for you,” Matthew said, nodding toward the depleted stack. Hermione flattened her brow out in disbelief. He was really going to try and lie to her? Matthew didn’t budge, but his eyes also bounced back and forth between hers as if seeking something. “D’you need something?”

“I’m not going to tell,” Hermione assured. “I’ve done my fair share of...night-time walks,” Hermione admitted, thinking back to her years at Hogwarts and beyond. She remembered the time she lectured Ron and Harry about trying to get them either to get killed or expelled in their first year and how distant that feeling was. Matthew’s eyes bugged out at her briefly before turning back to the hallway where his family was sleeping.

“You’re here because of the black dog, right?” Matthew asked again. _Oh, no_. “My dad, about five nights ago, went out for the sheep and he’s been missing. Mum’s been sick, but she won’t let me go look for him anymore. I’ve heard legend of a large black dog that roams the country—”

“Matthew, listen,” Hermione cut him off. “Prof—Mr. Strong and I are passing through. We’re not here about any black dog. Timothy is right; those types of legends are a way to keep people from going outside at night because it’s dangerous. Out here, uneven ground or getting lost or getting robbed, like Mr. Strong and I, are the real dangers,” Hermione tried gently. Her dissuasion didn’t sit well with Matthew. His eyes got a little wet, but his mouth turned down in a grimace.

“Are you a witch?” Matthew blurted out, his eyes peering out from between the wild hairs that had fallen over his brow. Hermione stopped with her mouth open and struggled. This was the tricky part. “A real one. Not a girl who thinks she can make boys do what she likes by burning some flowers,” Matthew said with a guarded tone.

What had he said to Timothy, or Martha? Hermione straightened herself a little and fought the urge to vehemently deny. That would get her nowhere. She had started to sweat at the small of her back, but it had nothing to do with the log that was now burning beside her. She had to take a chance.

“Yes. I am.” Matthew’s eyes popped out further from his face. But the glance over his shoulder told Hermione that he wasn’t going to say anything. “It’s my turn for a question,” Hermione said, bringing out the crisp voice she used when she needed Ron and Harry’s attention. “Did you see anyone else when you came to get us in the field?”

“No,” Matthew said, turning his face away from hers and looking into the fire. “And I didn’t tell anyone about how I saw you just...appear in the field.”

This was easily going to get Hermione stripped of her magic privileges when she got home. Now it was her turn to look over Matthew’s shoulder, toward Professor Snape’s room. If he heard that he’d be furious. Hermione waited for the ultimatum. These things always ended in an ‘or else’.

“What do you want?” Hermione bridged, now that Matthew had gone silent. He looked up at her with hope apparent in his eyes.

“Can you help me find my dad?” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I spend every moment I can by the pasture looking for any sign of him. He just went to get the sheep that night and then—” Matthew couldn’t find his words. Hermione’s heart went out to the young man who was just trying to figure his life out, along with missing a father. Hermione ached for her own parents. She’d Obliterated their memories before she left to fight with Harry just in case she never came back. She hadn’t even been able to go home and fix that.

Matthew watched her blink a few times, his face pleading with her. Hermione normally wouldn’t hesitate, but without her wand she wasn’t as capable. The dangers of walking around the countryside in the dark were very real—maybe not as stressful as what she’d been used to while hunting for Horcruxes, but still a bad situation to get caught in.

“Matthew, can you wait until morning? I’ll tell your mother we’re going to go see if we can find anything that the highwaymen might have left behind. We can look then,” Hermione compromised. Matthew let out a sigh. “Please. I promise I’ll help you.”

“I thought you were leaving tomorrow,” Matthew replied with a bite in his tone. “Adults are always lying to me.”

“I’m not lying, I will stay and help you look. Please don’t go out in the night. I couldn’t forgive myself if you got lost, too—”

“How many times do I have to say it! He’s not lost!” Matthew spat out while jumping up to a standing position. “I bet you wouldn’t believe me if I said I saw the black dog in the barn the day he went missing, just like my mum didn’t!”

Hermione’s ears twitched up at this. It was like a piece of a puzzle fell into place. An old lesson came back to her, something Professor Lupin taught her. Remus was gone but his wisdom and teaching were well instilled in her. It just required a little fortitude to be sure of what she suspected, but she was more than capable of handling this.

“When exactly did you see the black dog in the barn?” Hermione asked, also rising to meet Matthew upright. His eyebrows remained furrowed but a little of his wrath was quelled. Hermione was going to investigate the hell out of this herself, without Professor Snape who had called her stupid, and prove her cover story to Matthew’s family.

Hermione sent Matthew back to his room so she could dress herself back into the riding pants and buttoned top she’d created, a much more practical outfit than Sarah’s skirt and blouse. Now was just the tricky part. It was night time, which made this venture a little less practical. Typically Hermione would prefer to do this during the day, but if she were able to show Matthew what he was seeking and get him back inside, he’d wake the whole family and Hermione could borrow Professor Snape’s wand to finish what she started.

“Thank you, Henrietta,” Matthew whispered when he returned back to meet her in the main room of the house. His genuine thankfulness was apparent by his relaxed demeanor. All Matthew wanted was to be listened to. Hermione couldn’t hold that against him.

“I understand. If this is a real case of the paranormal, we’ll have to retreat and get Mr. Strong. He’s more skilled in this. We can’t face down a real Grim alone,” Hermione said in her sagest voice. Matthew was enraptured. All Hermione felt like was a fraud, like that warble-voiced Trelawney who scared the students half to death with omens and proclamations of evil. If only Hermione had known how right Trewlaney was at the time.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were a witch. I’m told witches are ugly,” Matthew said with a shy smile to her as he lit the lantern. Hermione fought not to let out a laugh, and it felt good. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.

“There are some ugly witches. They’re ugly on the inside, and do bad things to good people,” Hermione replied, pulling in her arm closer to her side. The weight of the still-healing scar tissue was maybe simply a few lines in her flesh, but it was heavy. She would carry this weight forever.

Matthew led the way, holding the creaking door ajar for her as they slipped out into the cool night. With the clouds gone, there was nothing but the crisp and wet wind, the stars which were abundant, and a feeling of dread in Hermione’s stomach. She really hoped this wasn’t a real case of the magical—but it was seldom that she was wrong.

The barn stood against the black night, and Matthew took charge as he carried the lantern up to the wide doors. The feeble light cast from the wick bounced ahead of Hermione as she squinted in the dark to see Matthew better. He was good at traveling the landscape, but Hermione was not. Now and then, her foot would catch on a loose rock as they walked up the slope to the barn or a thick rope of weedy grass would grab her toes.

Matthew halted at the barn and hung the lantern on the water pump beside its doors, taking off the wooden board that had been laid across it as the sheep began to bleat listlessly. Once the lock was off, Matthew swung the door wide open as Hermione prepared herself for what could be in store.

Inside the barn—nothing. Well, except the sheep all crying at them in the doorway, and Gideon the dog laying beside them unperturbed...in fact, not moving at all. Gideon was still. In the other corner, the horse let out a piercing whinny. The faint light from the lantern cast shadows on them all as Matthew rounded the corner into the barn.

“So, what is a Grim?” Matthew dared to call out a little louder than a whisper. Hermione poked her head into the barn a little further, looking into the darkened corners.

“Well, it’s technically not called a Grim. There’s another word, a Boggart. They’re shape-shifters that feed off fear,” Hermione informed watching as Rachel paced back and forth against her pen. From under her sleeves came an instinctual wave of goosebumps, the hallmark of latent fear. “I’m not sure it’s here. It would have shown itself already.”

“ _Would it?_ ” a voice, like Matthew’s but much stranger, suddenly appeared over Hermione’s shoulder. Cold air hit Hermione’s neck as the light went out of the lantern behind her, and her single scream pierced the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone, witty_line here with a warning;  
> Period Typical Racism incoming. It's in the tags, but I figured I'd give a little warning before, too.  
> Racism, class-differences, and heritage are all very important themes in Harry Potter, with phrases like Mudblood being a slur meant to demean, and the attitude toward werewolves later in the series seen as 'diseased' and shunned by the wizarding society. When I started writing this I knew I was delving into darker territories with having a dark-skined Hermione, which is already controversial among many fans and readers of the original series, but I didn't want to shy away from what would be accurate for the time. If this makes you uncomfortable, I should warn you now that Period Typical Racism make another appearance later in the story. I hope that the mature content of this story lends itself to mature, critical-thinking readers who are looking to enjoy the story as I chose to present it. Thank you for reading.

Severus had such a hard time containing his fury to have discovered Hermione gone that when Timothy told him the next morning, he had to clasp his hands together to keep from the temptation of reaching for his wand. That insolent, childish girl! Walking around a Victorian England farm as if she owned the place or it was some holiday—what was she thinking?! Perhaps she wasn’t thinking at all. Worse than that, the youngest boy was gone. Mathais? Malken? Something like that. In fact, it was the crying of Martha and Sarah that had woken him the next morning, along with Timothy pounding on Severus’ door with righteous fury. But Severus didn’t blame the distraught family.

“Where is he?!” Martha screamed at him as Severus attempted to rise from the bed. He’d managed to throw on his trousers and a shirt before she just barged in, thank Merlin. Timothy had to rush in and restrain Martha from striking Severus. At the kitchen table, Sarah sat with her head in her hands and cried.

“I’ll find them both. I assure you,” Severus promised, already exhausted with this place. Timothy glowered at him in response. “When I do, we’ll be leaving.”

“Make sure you and your pickaninny do!” Martha snarled, wrestling herself free from Timothy as Severus felt the burn at the term. Timothy sensed that Martha had crossed a line, and the bluster was rapidly dropped from Timothy’s sails. He even tried to apologize, to which Severus ignored, donned his half-cloak, and set out to find Hermione and M-something.

Fatigued, Severus started where it seemed the most logical. Hermione probably went back to the field to figure out any clues as to their arrival and enlisted the young Muggle boy rather than wait. What a finely stupid move. Look where her hubris had gotten the both of them! That mother was probably going to flay that boy for gallivanting off in the night with a teenage girl.

Severus sometimes caught dating students sneaking out of their dorms late at night to kiss, but the worst thing was when it was students from Slytherin kissing students from other Houses and acting like it was the end of the world to be caught. Severus didn’t care—just go back to your dorms and pretend it didn’t happen, but also attend detention for the next month. In his last year at Hogwarts, it wasn’t so much the kissing anymore; it was students literally trying to run away from the abuse and tyranny of the Death Eaters installed in the castle. Those nights were the hardest of all.

What had possessed Hermione to think she could just go out on her own? They were without resources, a clear plan, or even enough wands for the pair of them. Being around Potter so much must have damaged what critical thinking she used to have. Severus assumed this was the case as he took the path from the house west, far from the sight of the distraught family.

Severus drew his wand from his pocket, ignoring the paper card still lingering from Hermione’s transfiguration, and the bottles of potion from his life-saving contingency. Severus was pleased that this would be easy. All he’d have to do is use a tracking spell to find Hermione, follow it to the idiotic pair, and return the Muggle.

“ _Appare_ _Vestigium_ ,” Severus pronounced, casting his wand in a small circle over a fork in the road that led to the barn, the house, and most likely the pasture. One by one, a stream of footprints glinted like gold in the morning light.

Then, they kept coming. Severus watched as the trickle of one pair of footprints turned into two, three, then five, then seven. Back and forth the feet lead in shining pairs across each stretch of road. How...did Hermione travel so much in one night? The logical answer presented itself. Hermione and Severus were not the only magical beings out here. Nevertheless, he decided to follow the road down the rolling countryside hills toward the west. It was the only place they could have run off to.

When Severus came along a stick, he enlarged it to a walking staff to lean on. His body was still recovering from Nagini’s attack—but he wasn’t helpless. Severus was an accomplished spellcaster and knew that once he found the Muggle boy it would be a swift Memory Charm before leaving, as promised to the family. Any other witches of wizards that came his way as well should be hesitant to cross his path as well.

Severus did not count out one possibility. The wizard in the dark of the Shrieking Shack, the one who had used the Dark Mark to seek him, could be here. It would account for the extra footprints in the spell. Still, his Dark Mark was quieted now and there had been no further burns. If anyone was trying to find Severus now it was through much stealthier means. The wizard had not arrived in the field with him like Hermione had, but Madam Pomfrey wasn’t there either. Had he dragged Hermione through time by grabbing hold of her, leaving Madam Pomfrey in his present time? But then, didn’t that exclude the wizard? Unless he somehow followed them.

By the time Severus reached the field, the sheep had been moved from the barn to the pasture for their daily graze. He was winded and still feeling sluggish, so Severus took a moment to rest against the low wall of the pasture. Hermione was indeed not here. Flicking his wand and willing her wand to zoom up to him, he waited for several seconds before realizing there was no wand to meet him. Again, her foolhardiness had greater consequences than just being without a useful tool. In the event Hermione did come across the wizard looking for Severus, she would have been completely helpless if he had a wand.

“Fuck,” Severus hissed, feeling his neck throb punishingly for all his exertion. This wasn’t the time for weakness. He’d stuck his neck out innumerable times for those three, time and time again, risking life, limb and reputation. Severus wasn't worried about his ability, he just had to figure out how to get to wherever Hermione was now.

Severus stared at the old oak tree in the center of the pasture as if willing it to give him answers. Half-hollowed and petrified, it would grow no leaves this spring or summer. He watched as the sheep picked around the tree—of course, they dodged away from it any time one of its ancient branches made so much as a crinkle. What strange behavior for sheep who should be used to this old tree, Severus considered.

He opened the fence to give himself entry to the pasture. The sheep trotted around him and gave Severus a wide berth as he passed through, wand raised at the ready. When he peered into the tree his blood ran cold. A collection of items were tucked into the base of the tree, some trinkets, some...organic material. Namely, bones. Sitting atop the pile was a gold ring and a vine wand snapped neatly in two. He knew that wand like he knew its owner, and Severus knew something was much more wrong here than just Hermione going off on her own.

Reaching in as far as he dared, Severus grabbed at the men's wedding ring from just beside the wand and practically threw it into his pocket. He set off red sparks to scare the sheep into a corner of the pasture furthest from the tree before fixing his wand’s tip to the center of the trunk.

“ _Incendio_!” Severus bellowed, and with a resonate crackling the dead wood burst into flame. Still, nothing. That means whatever had made that nest was not here. Severus didn’t have the strength in him to fly back to the house, so he snatched up the impromptu walking stick and started to charge up the hill as fast as his lethargic legs would carry him.

When he finally made it back to the house, Severus was met with a cold welcome. Martha was calling out for Matthew (that was his name, right), and Sarah was calling for somebody named Gideon. Who was Gideon, the baby he heard the other night? Severus didn’t want to think of the possibility that an infant or child was missing with a monster on the loose...or that he was responsible for bringing it to the home. Timothy met him at the crossroads, but faltered when he saw the ring that Severus held up. Martha pushed past Sarah who remained in the doorway, her eyes locked onto Severus where he stood. At first, she charged at him until she too realized what he was holding, and then let out a faint wail.

“When did your husband go missing, Martha?” Severus commanded, knowing time was running out more than ever. Martha wiped at her face as she struggled to speak, half-falling against her son-in-law.

“S-Six days ago,” Martha sobbed. “He went t-to let in the sheep and n-never came back,” she managed to say. Severus shoved the ring into her hand and grabbed Timothy’s forearm to stabilize himself over a bout of dizziness. Not now. Severus willed himself to take deep breaths.

“We need to search every room, every small corner, everything. If you find something...call for me,” Severus directed. He pushed off Timothy and leaned once more on his walking stick. One more hill to go.

“Where are you going?” Timothy called after him while trying to guide the inconsolable Martha into the house. Severus could only point at the barn. Something had gotten in unannounced, and smarter than average. The beast was probably smarter than most of the students Severus had dealt with in the last decade.

Severus, no longer worried about what these Muggles might see, used one powerful flick of his wand to send the wooden plank over the barn doors into the middle of the yard as they swung open to admit him like an old friend. Severus cast the tracking spell again, finding the same amount of footprints again. It had been here. In the corner, a large workhorse shifted anxiously from the sudden trespass. Or that’s what he thought at the very least. Even when Severus had stilled, the horse was lifting its feet time and time again, obviously very unhappy or even scared. Severus tried to put himself in the mindset of the creature he was hunting. Where would he be? What would he do?

“I’m not afraid of you,” Severus taunted openly into the barn. “You insignificant little creature! You’re so weak, aren’t you?” From deep within the barn came a low rumble of a growl. That was the answer Severus was looking for. “Scaring sheep, then this family, that’s all you can do. You’re pathetic. You must have been hungry for a long time—you’re the worst Boggart I’ve never even seen! You haven’t tried your luck against me because you know you can’t frighten me!”

That seemed to set it off. From the loft, which didn’t have a ladder to reach the fifteen-foot high platform, a set of pale white hands clawed over the ledge followed by a pair of beady red eyes. Before Severus could set off a counter-spell to neutralize it, the scream of Martha caught the Boggart’s attention.

Ready to feast on the fear of a mother who has lost her husband and child, the monstrous version of her son hungrily stared down just beyond Severus’ shoulder. In an attempt to get the monster to focus on the spellcaster again, Severus flung out his arms in front of Martha in hopes it would transform into something he could deal with. It didn’t, and instead lunged down from the loft without pause. Severus attempted to knock it aside with a spell, but it changed from the cursed Matthew into a large carrion bird that screeched angrily while dodging the spell. It course-corrected in the air to make another pass at Severus who blasted a fireball in front of himself to act as a shield. The bird had to swing past in order to prevent itself from being caught in the flames.

“Professor!” a scream called out. Severus looked up to find Hermione tottering up onto her knees, unable to balance well due to her arms being bound behind her back. So, she’d been here all along. Nobody thought they were in the barn as there wasn’t any sign that Hermione and Matthew could have climbed up there. Now Severus just felt foolish.

He couldn’t focus on Hermione, as the bird was shifting again. It seemed the Boggart had complete control over its shape, and was not reliant on individual fear to make its attacks. Furthermore, by the visible red spattering over Hermione’s shoulder, it seemed that this Boggart had gone beyond feral with desperation. It had begun to create its own fear in the victims by means of injury and menace.

“Martha, laugh!” Severus commanded, glancing over his shoulder to see Timothy running up to the barn now. Great, another target to feed this thing! “Martha!” Severus implored.

“I-I can’t—!” Martha screamed, ducking again as the Boggart transformed into a huge bat. This was no use. Severus couldn’t do this alone. He found Hermione’s eyes and saw the fear melt away into readiness. He hoped he could rely on her.

“Granger, jump!” Severus bellowed, fending off the Boggart as it swooped in once more to attack. This time, a three-inch claw sunk deep into the flesh of Severus’ outstretched arm and drew blood and cries of agony. Still—Hermione threw herself over the side of the loft with a scrunched face as she prepared for impact. It never came, of course. Severus had softened her fall with a spell, allowing Hermione to right herself as she reached the barn floor.

Hermione struggled against her bonds only a moment longer as Severus used his last chance for a shielding spell to slice through the rope. Hermione was without a wand to properly defend herself but even still she didn’t let the opportunity pass her. Severus took the full brunt force of the giant bat as it tried to grab at him, and he instead reached out to snatch the leg before it met his face. That was when Hermione’s hand found an discarded lantern on the ground. She dashed forward and slammed it against the Boggart’s back, shattering the lantern as it spewed kerosene over the form. Before it could shift into something else to escape Severus pointed his wand and let the flame light. The Boggart screamed out in agony as fire swept over the surface of the skin, if it could even be called that.

It ripped free from Severus’ grasp, rolling about in the dirt as a dozen different forms took over, from a spider to a mummified corpse. Once the flame was out, it caught sight of Hermione again, now separated from the rest of them. But she was not without a physical defense. Hermione stood there with her stance firm with a pitchfork at the ready, though intelligent and cold calculation flashed across the monster's face. All at once, the Boggart transformed into a figure that brought up a hundred different memories just at the sight alone. It was Potter, half-laying in the filth of the barn floor and prone in front of Hermione. From behind the Boggart, Severus could see Hermione’s resolve weaken.

“Please, d-don’t,” Boggart Potter called out. “I’m begging you, don’t kill me!”

“It’s not real, Granger!” Hermione didn’t show that she could hear reason. Boggart Potter was now crawling dangerously close to her. “Listen to _me_! It’s not him!” Severus rationalized. He wondered if it was too late.

Hermione’s eyes, awash with tears, snapped up. Her gaze broke free and anger followed it. She brought the tines of the pitchfork down on the vulnerable Boggart Potter, running through the hand that was inching closer to her leg. It screamed out on contact and shifted away from her as Hermione let out a terrible battle cry of her own.

The Boggart was returning to its oldest tricks. Once it fled Hermione, it whirled about on Severus. The magic behind Boggarts is unknown—how does it know what scares people the most? Severus does not know, he simply understands the rules of this game. When the Boggart transforms into a mixture of Voldemort and Nagini, he is ready. _Funny_. _Think of something funny_.

“You’ll never be free,” the snake face of Voldemort hissed.

"I don't need to be free," Severus snarled back. " _Riddikulus_!"

All at once, the body of Voldemort's snake figure became stiff and formed into a spring that bounced on the ground back and forth, a Muggle toy he'd loved as a child called a slinky. When he forced out a laugh at it that probably sounded maniacal, and it bounced happily about until it spotted Hermione again. It took the opportunity to transform into a cursed Potter now, afflicted by some horrible hex that seemed to be close to killing him.

“Here!” Severus commanded the Boggart again, and when Hexed Potter turned to face him, Severus cast another counter-spell on the Boggart where it was now James Potter, upside down the same way that Severus had been so long ago. Severus barked out another laugh and Hermione forced herself to copy it.

The Boggart was sensing a defeat and attempted to make a break for one of the dark corners of the barn to hide. “No, you don’t!” Severus shouted after it. With a fell swoop of his wand the barn was illuminated by a powerful cone of light that forced the Boggart to hide in the only shadow available, as a small little rat in the shadow of the horse. Severus did not anticipate on the horse reacting to the rat as quickly as it did, hooves coming down on the creature over and over again until it became smoke that just melted into the air. With that, the Boggart was gone, permanently.

Severus slunk to the ground against one of the barns pillars while Martha and Timothy rushed to Hermione, who was summoning them to fetch a ladder. Once they were atop the ladder Martha let out another scream that caused Severus to start—only to hear soft crying. They were happy tears, Severus could tell. Not only was Matthew up there in the loft, but so was his father, cold and hungry but otherwise alive. The family was whole again.

Hermione trudged over to Severus, leaning down to inspect the dripping coming from his forearm. Severus jerked it away from her prying fingers. He just needed a break.

“You followed the Boggart into the barn,” Severus deduced. Hermione let out a sigh.

“I didn’t realize it was a Boggart. It had joined the sheep when we arrived, and then when the sheep were in the barn, it switched with Matthew when he went to get water earlier,” Hermione explained. Severus nodded, tiredly. “May I use your wand, sir?”

“Whatever for?” Severus grumbled, looking up at her. Hermione silently glanced over her shoulder at the ladder. Not wishing to fight anymore, he passed her the wand. “Make it clean.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione let out on instinct. When she realized she’d said his former title, instead of calling him sir like she had been, she turned around sharply as if to escape the word. It seemed she still had not quite forgiven him for...well, everything in the last year.

Severus recalled the other times he’d seen Hermione before the final event in the Shrieking Shack, like when Potter had stormed the Great Hall and told the school that Severus had been the one to kill Dumbledore, and the last day of her sixth year.

But the last time he’d seen the student Hermione Granger was at the funeral. Nobody expected Severus to be there, among the many hundreds of guests. Severus Snape wasn’t there to grieve Albus Dumbledore, he was there of course to watch over Potter. Severus still had his duties. Hermione and all the other students who arrived were dressed in their plain black robes. If Severus cared, he might have been moved by the whole affair, but it was so gaudy he felt that even Dumbledore in his many accomplishments would have found the event too much to bear.

Nevertheless, Severus Snape was disguised as someone he didn’t even know through a Polyjuice Potion, sitting near to Potter in case anybody made an attack. Hermione, Potter, and the youngest of the Weasley brood were sitting together, crying. It was probably the last time Severus had seen these children again before they were trial-hardened adults, fighting for their very lives.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” Severus heard Hermione cast as she wiped all traces of magic, fear, and uncertainty from this Muggle family. If only forgetting were so easy for the two of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was such a late update today! The day has been hectic, and I'm finally posting at about 11pm! I'm so sorry! Thak you for reading!

The deep rumbling chug of a train beneath their feet lulled Hermione as she furiously scribbled on the margins of her trashcan newspaper with the pencil she borrowed from the conductor. Across from her, Professor Snape—no, _just_ Snape now, adjusted the neck of his robes to hide the gauze wrapped just under his jaw. She didn’t want to think about her slip in the barn. Thankfully, eyes were fixated on the world outside the train. Hermione sighed again, watching Snape from over the edge of her work.

“Sir, I really think we should go back and see if we can find anything about who might be following us—”

"I hardly think we should return to a location where we can be ambushed, Granger. That is the last time I will say it," Snape warned as he watched the world pass by as if bored. "The last thing we need is to be caught behaving suspiciously,” he reminded crisply. “What are you scribbling?”

"I'm attempting to compose something to help us get back home. It might take some serious calculation, and I'd really like the Hogwarts library right now—" Hermione came to a stop as a couple passed by their cabin. They took in her bushy hair before settling on her face. The woman pulled a strange expression as her portly husband shared a whisper with her. When Snape noticed them, he reached over to irritably jerk the curtain closed.

“You’re being reckless,” Snape hissed.

“Oh, and stealing from a poor country family isn’t reckless? After we wiped their minds? I get that we’re low on funds, but we could have just left them be!” Hermione shot back in a low tone, her eyes dropping to the wallet he’d also borrowed from Timothy. Well, even borrowed was a strong word. Hermione looked at the money with displeasure. She couldn’t believe how low Snape had gone, but she found herself boiling a little when he scoffed and rolled his eyes at her.

“Again, trivial in comparison. Try to be concerned about the important things,” Snape replied. Hermione could actually feel her face switched into incredulity.

“Trivial? I don’t know how you expect to get anywhere for free. It’s the 19th century, not the Stone Age,” Hermione scoffed.

“You’ll soon learn that desperate times call for desperate measures, and that typical rules call for unconventional responses,” Snape said while gesturing to the pocket of his jacket that held his wand. Now it was Hermione’s turn to display her disgust to which Snape returned to Hermione, indignant at her attitude. “I had dealt with awful, stupid, and lazy children as an instructor at Hogwarts, but never any so bold as you, Potter, and Weasely. Now you’re too good to steal? As if you’ve never stolen anything in your life, like for your Polyjuice Potions.”

As Hermione sat across from Snape, she could see he was not going to be so easily persuaded, by the firm way he drew his arms folded across his chest at her defiance. But she had to be rational, even when the most rational, calculating, mathematical person she ever knew was being as stubborn as Ron!

"Sir, with all due respect I disagree," Hermione managed, although her twitching jaw betrayed her ‘respect’. "The less we impose on our environment, the less we change." Snape snorted in response to her fears.

"And I suppose you've thought a lot about our environment," he drawled. The air seemed to be sucked from the cabin. Snape’s wary eyes took in the dangerous look on her face and although she didn't show it, Hermione felt a splash of heat break out over the back of her neck.

"Yes, I have considered I'm black, thank you."

"That was not at all what I meant—"

"But it has everything to do with _this_ ," Hermione snapped over his excuses, her finger flicking back and forth between Snape and herself. When he dropped his mouth open to protest, she held up her palm. “You know what I mean. I’m counting on you to make sure I don’t get left behind here, because I won’t survive. It’s not...safe, for me here,” Hermione began to tip-toe while Professor Snape’s face went stone still. “I need to know that you trust me, too.”

“And if not? What if I don’t trust you, Granger?” Snape replied with a tick of his jaw in frustration. He honestly couldn't stand Hermione, and it showed. Hermione was glad to be getting on his nerves for a change. Hermione always excelled in school, but Snape certainly didn't make it easier; in fact, she knew Severus relished in making Hermione's school career more difficult than necessary. How the tables turn.

“I’ve already told you, start practicing calling me ‘Good’. Besides you should trust me. I’m going to figure out how to get us home,” Hermione declared. She wished she felt more like that was the truth, rather than just how she wanted to feel.

There were few options open to them. Hermione and Snape bickered on where they should go (Hermione pushed for the Ministry while Snape argued for Diagon Alley first, and eventually they were on their way to where he wanted), but before long they'd both quieted down and remained in their own little worlds. This kind of peace and silence was pleasant to Hermione. She could think about her situation and how to improve it. As she wrote down all she knew about time related magic, Snape stood with a pound note in hand and opened the carriage door with a rattle.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice. She hoped he couldn't detect it.

"I won't be gone long, just keep the door closed," Snape replied while casting his eyes about the hallway of the train before slipping out. With his exit, Hermione felt alone and vulnerable.

Hermione attempted for a brief moment to straighten her hair out with her fingers, jerking her nails through the knots and wincing at the pain. She pulled the thick curls up into a chignon as best as she could and shoved the stubby pencil into the center to keep her hair in one place. Snape had transfigured her clothes into something a little more appropriate for their position; rather than wearing a riding habit he'd fashioned her costume into something a little more feminine for everyday wear, with a practical skirt and thick cotton blouse with short sleeves, but Hermione insisted on keeping the bolero to cover her arms. It made Hermione more presentable, and luckily, Snape didn't need to change his stalwart attire. He did, however, ask about why the length of this cloak was changed. Snape seemed absolutely distraught over it in his own way. Hermione feigned innocence as best as she could, claiming it might have been damaged when they arrived.

With Snape gone, Hermione felt like she could breathe and think alone. Not that she imagined he was prying into her thoughts with Legilimency—but the weight of being trapped here with only Severus Snape as her help was nearly laughable. Though, there really wasn't anyone else besides Harry or Ron that she'd have, or at least a friendly face like Ginny, or even Neville. When was it last that Hermione had seen Snape, outside of the war? While the wizarding world was ravaged by Voldemort all around her, she longed for the comforts of Hogwarts and its once-provided safety. Hermione craved Gryffindor common room, her usual school classes, or the library lay far beyond her reach for those months that she searched for Horcruxes with Harry and Ron.

But then she'd seen Snape in the Shrieking Shack, a broken caricature of the man who had been a constant force in Harry's life, and hers by association. While his disapproval for Hermione was vocal, she didn’t feel the same about it anymore. As of recently there'd been little Snape had said that could really get under her skin like when she was just a student. Hermione hoped that Snape was depending on her to also cooperate with him. That seemed illogical; he was the superior and senior wizard, and no matter how clever she was, Snape would be fine without her. Hermione didn't know what to say about herself alone in Victorian England. When the door reopened, Hermione was so deep in thought she hardly noticed the lump shoved into her hand. When she looked down she discovered it was a muffin from the pastry trolley. Sweet cinnamon and wheat aromas wafted from the warm food. Hermione brought the pastry to her nose to inhale with appreciation. Snape sat across from her with a small cup of tea and a muffin of his own.

"In all your scribbles did you think of anything actually useful?" Snape grumbled with a bored stare out the window.

"Hmf, 'ang on," Hermione said past her first ravenous bite, wiping the crumbs free from her skirt. She drew the newspaper out between their knees and glanced at her notes. "Do you remember exactly what happened?"

"I was assaulted when you threw a cast spell at me rather than back at your opponent. If you were still my pupil, I would have failed you and sent you to the first years' classes for such poor form. I assume somebody tried to Apparate during the fiasco," Snape said over the rim of his teacup. Hermione jotted down his testimony in shorthand to catch it all.

"I think it was Madam Pomfrey. But she didn't appear in the field with us," Hermione said while tapping a spot labeled _M.P_. with a question mark beside it. Where was she? Could she too be stuck with them in England, blown back in time? Hermione hoped not.

"Your use of a Time-Turner led me to believe you had experience in time magic," Snape sniffed as if ready to dock her House points. Hermione raised her brows and blew out her cheeks. Sure, she used it—but it hardly meant she was an expert in it. She just followed the Ministry's instructions when she'd gotten it. Ouch. Hermione reminded herself sharply of Snape saying she was incapable of original thought, and knew she had to figure it out a little more. Still, Snape waited, not pestering but definitely displeased with her. A thought had stuck with Hermione for the past few hours and she tucked her pencil into the fold of her newspaper while trying to go about how to ask Snape her question.

“Sir, the Boggart...didn’t behave like a normal Boggart,” she started. Snape’s face flickered with annoyance at her statement of the obvious. “Could somebody do that?”

“If by ‘do that’, you mean to express if a Boggart could be taught reason and attack a family? It’s highly unlikely,” Snape drawled. “There’s no evidence to suggest it had been manipulated by anyone.”

“But _could_ it—”

“Gr— _Good_ , I don’t give merit in unstructured hypotheticals. I have reason to believe the Boggart was starved for fear and managed to work out a way to produce fear by controlling its shape-shifting abilities. Could it have been trained? Perhaps. Can we prove somebody trained it before we got there? No, and that is all,” Snape declared firmly.

There it was. Sometimes, Hermione knew from being around Harry who kept secret from time to time, that it was just as important to note what a person said and didn’t say. Snape sipped at his tea with a tight grimace across his face. Hermione knew she’d have to push his boundaries more before she got what she wanted.

“Despite what you want me to believe, I’m not some helpless idiot. I’m just trying to get home. So tell me whatever it is you're not telling me," Hermione challenged. Snape ground his teeth behind stiff lips for a moment like he was chewing over the demand.

Snape replaced the saucer in the teacup before drawing his wand. He cast a locking charm on the door to assure that nobody would be able to interrupt. Hermione felt herself lean inches closer, as if sharing a secret. Among those that kept their cards close to the chest, Dumbledore, Harry, and Snape were some of the few who really prefered to never show their hand at all. Ron, on the other side of the coin, was like an open book—especially when he blushed. Snape’s hand came up almost on instinct, touching at the gauze over the still-healing wound of Nagini’s bite. Of course Snape had healed himself to the best of his capabilities but he did require more time. Hermione thought she could see him swallow before speaking.

“In the Shrieking Shack, somebody was looking for me,” Snape began. Hermione knew this, remembering the voice in the dark. “And they were looking for me by way of...my Mark,” Snape stuttered out in blocky syllables. It was like he didn’t want to admit it. Hermione waited for why this mattered. When it didn’t strike her immediately Snape gave her an exasperated eye roll. Why should she know? She wasn’t a Death Eater.

“It only works while The Dark Lord is still alive,” Snape pronounced. Hermione felt the chill against every inch of her skin, cold running through her.

“T-That can’t be,” Hermione refuted as she began shaking her head. “No, Harry _killed_ Voldemort—he defeated him!” Snape watched her try and pull away from this conversation of horror, but once her back touched the seat of the train carriage there was nowhere else to go.

The final duel was still fresh in her mind. As Harry and Voldemort circled each other, the pair debated everything between life and death, love and blood-purity, Snape and Dumbledore and Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. The final fight came crashing down as Voldemort’s hubris killed him as surely as Harry’s determination. Hermione had seen the lifeless body of Voldemort and knew in her heart that if she could trust nobody else for the truth, then she knew for herself that Lord Voldemort was truly dead. Harry and Ron had gone on after Voldemort’s death to talk to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, but Hermione excused herself to seek help for recovering Snape’ body. After that...this. She'd jumped from one hell to another. Now Snape was telling her that in order for Snape’s Dark Mark to be active Voldemort had to be alive? Hermione wanted to be sick.

“We followed your orders,” Hermione said past the growing nausea in her chest. “We got rid of the Horcrux in the Forest of Dean, we made sure that all of them were gone...even the link between Voldemort and Harry,” she explained again, as if that would make a difference.

Snape only kept his eyes on her. He did not react to her pain and confusion any further or try to ridicule her. The muffin in her hand had not lost much of its warmth, but she didn’t want to eat it right now anyway. In the back of Hermione’s ears was still a constant ringing...a ringing that hadn’t let up since the battle began. She didn’t know when it would stop.

“Unfortunately, this is all I know about the Dark Mark; it is used to distinguish members, and it will fade. When it is used again, it will burn and turn almost completely black.”

“I thought it was like the Protean Charm,” Hermione let out weakly. Snape scoffed through his nose, but only lightly. It seemed he did not take any joy in her distress this time. “Like anyone could use it and all of them would change.”

“If anyone could use it, it wouldn’t be very special. I doubt anyone has ever tried to use it to call on fellow Death Eaters—but I wouldn’t be surprised if during his absence, one of the Death Eaters attempted and the Mark proved itself more than just a simple charm that _just_ _anyone_ could use,” Snape explained.

Hermione had to admit that it made more sense that way. These weren’t D.A. coins. Voldemort, in his egotistical way, would have probably made sure that it only mattered or made a difference when he was around to reap the fear it created. It was similar to a Protean Charm, but it held the severity of a curse.

“We have to get back,” Hermione begged nobody but herself. “We have to fix this, if he’s really not dead.” When she looked up, Snape’s eyes were locked on her in such a way that she thought he was frozen. He almost stared at her like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Hermione never really trusted Snape, not completely. She thought he was cursing Harry’s broom their first year—and though it later was discovered to be Quirrell, that moment cemented her opinions of him from then on out. It was only through being proven wrong again and again that she finally saw he was not some insidious shadow, but he had loyalties to Dumbledore. Hermione also discovered the hard way that his loyalties were thin. But she hoped, if for nothing else than the sake of avenging Lily Potter, that he would not abandon Harry’s side in this task.

The train began to roll slowly into the station. Up and down the corridors the conductor called out their stop was indeed London. Hermione hadn’t even noticed they had entered the metropolitan landscape. Snape took one final swig of the tea he brought and stood while adjusting the remainder of his coat. Without another word, he departed the train. Hermione jumped to follow him lest she really be left behind. On the platform now among the swirl of people moving about, it seemed like London had changed little. Sure, it smelled worse with the manure stench and the smog from factories looming overhead, but otherwise it was history. Hermione Granger was awed to see in its original form. Snape seemed to care less for the scenery and was briskly walking ahead of Hermione into the street.

Their conversation had been abandoned on the train. While they walked, or rather while Hermione followed Snape out of the train station, they remained silent. After half a block, Snape cast a look over his shoulder at Hermione, and then behind her at something for the most brief of seconds before ducking into a tea shop. Hermione felt her skin freeze over. Did he just... _ditch_ her?

Hermione caught up to the threshold quickly, but rather than the back of his head she saw him leaning just beyond sight, but watching the entrance while girls with trays of tea served completely full tables of gentlemen and ladies. With a flap of his hand he waved her in urgently. Hermione released the breath she had been subconsciously holding in. No, he wouldn't just abandon her, that was silly. When she slipped in, Snape leaned in closer to her ear.

"We're being followed. I want you to lead them away—there's a back door over there."

"What? I can't," Hermione balked, pulling away. He wanted her to play bait now? "I don't have my wand!" She was wary of this plan. But he remained sharp and cold, staring down the strong bridge of his nose at her.

"If you don't go, we'll be in worse trouble than we already are!" Snape said, cupping the back of her bicep and shoving her shoulder toward the back of the warm tea house that bustled with activity. Nobody looked their way twice, thank goodness. "I'll be right behind you," Snape added with exasperation, as if it were obvious.

Though Hermione didn't know where he'd be or how he planned to do that, she sucked in a breath to steel herself and moved between the tables. Hermione shot a look behind her on an impulse and his unflinching eyes met hers again without blinking. Unnerved, Hermione returned to the path in front of her. There was an alley access door, and Hermione passed through it into the London streets once more.

While the cool air returned to her face after leaving the warmth of the tea shop, Hermione put her head down low and passed between the bland grey buildings, trying her hardest to keep her shoes out of puddles of filth. Dirt and grime crunched audibly beneath her soles. Another set of wet steps clicked behind her. The sound bounced ahead of its owner and beyond Hermione as she focused on the light of the next street, just out of reach of the alley. Was it Snape? Was it an assailant? The rough voice in the dark of the Shrieking Shack rang through Hermione's head. _The Dark Lord will live again..._ Hermione thought she heard the faint edges of ringing between the sounds of her pace.

The steps picked up their pace. Distantly, a horse tugged a rickety carriage through the cobblestone streets. A woman laughed with her friend as they passed the mouth of the alley Hermione was desperate to escape. It had to be fifty more steps at most. Hermione dared to glance behind her. In her peripheral vision, only one figure moved, all distinguishing features clouded by the shadow of the alley. Snape was nowhere in sight. Hermoine would know his stalking gait anywhere and the person behind her was practically tripping over themselves to catch up to her.

_Alright, alright,_ Hermione thought to herself as she fought the shivers of panic. _You can do this. You’re almost there._

"Miss, stop!" A brassy voice called out closer to Hermione than expected, causing her to jump. She did not stumble or pause, though. "I said _stop_ , I need to talk—"

" _Levicorpus_!" somebody bellowed, and as Hermione whirled on instinct to face her attacker, she found him dangling by the ankle. He was immobile save for the swing of his arms as he tried to pry off the invisible force clutching at his shoes. The man's hat had fallen, leaving his bald head to catch what little light there was in the alleyway, and his coat hung from him like bat wings. The more the man fought with his feet the more wine-colored his face became.

Beside Hermione, Snape’s figure poured out of the air and back into existence. When the Bedazzlement Hex was completely reversed, Snape pointed his wand down on the nose of the man hanging from mid-air. Their tail seemed to get the drift and allowed himself to merely hang at the mercy of his captors. Hermione stifled a shiver as Snape used a few flicks of his wand to turn out the pockets of their newly captured shadow. He carried a wallet, a dingy flask, a few spare coins, a monogrammed pocket handkerchief emblazoned _W.R._ , and finally a thick paper card with a name and address printed on it. Snape deftly snatched the card out of the air and inspected it.

"Lady Dymphna McCray? I don't take you for much of a lady," Snape said while placing the card in his own pocket. The man merely sighed and folded his hands politely across his chest.

"I was sent by my employer Lady McCray; my name is Mr. William Reese. She offers you weary travelers stay at her home and is incredibly eager to meet you—"

"Then I suppose your patron will have to be disappointed. Come along," Snape directed to Hermione. As they turned on their heels, Mr. Reese let out a self-satisfied chuckle.

"I wouldn't say so, Mr. Strong. And if you're headed to Diagon Alley, you're going the wrong way."

Snape halted on the edge of the alleyway, causing Hermione to crash into his arm. He was staring out onto the street but it was clear his eyes didn't see anything before him. Fed up, Hermione turned around and stormed back to the man. She was sick of being scared. As Mr. Reese watched her, his face turned a fair shade of lavender as the purples in his face washed out in apparent worry. He twiddled his thumbs while working to appear cool and collected in his position.

"Five," Hermione said, staring down at the man. His bulging eyes watched her face for any changes, but still he said nothing. "Four."

"E-excuse me—"

" _Three_ ," Hermione cut over with a warning uptick in her tone. Snape had appeared by her side, mute. He observed over her shoulder like he might watch a student brew something particularly complex.

"Wait a minute—what are you going to do?" Mr. Reese shot back, his voice also growing high but not in the same way. Hermione thought she heard a faint choke, or maybe a snort to her left.

"If you know what we are, then I suggest you tell us everything you know, or you'll be very disappointed with what I'm going to do," Hermione snapped. " _Two_!"

Mr. Reese threw up his hands in front of his face, the cool indifference completely gone. As he cowered in her presence she fought the urge to laugh. When she glanced up at Snape, she saw an uncharacteristic twitch at the corner of his mouth as he too seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. It nearly floored Hermione to see the much feared Severus Snape so close to actually losing his dead-pan expression. She'd never seen so much as a smile from him. Hermione had to return to the still upside down Mr. Reese to avoid openly gawking.

“Alright! I-I don’t know anything about you, it’s Lady McCray! She didn’t want me to say, but she would like to pay you for your magical abilities. She’s a squab? Squib? Something of that nature! Please, don’t turn me inside out!” Mr. Reese said as the burgundy tones were now flooding into his neck. Hermione gave the man a pitying sigh as she crossed her arms.

“Mr. Strong, should we pay Lady McCray a visit? We really shouldn’t interact with anyone,” Hermione reasoned while frowning. “Although, it could be helpful.”

“I was under the impression you were a Gryffindor, Miss Good,” Snape replied evenly to her cautious tone, using his wand to circle the courier back into an upright position. “I think we’re more than capable of handling afternoon tea. After that, we’ll be leaving and we _expect_ privacy,” Snape added. Their new guide gulped for air while digging around in his pocket for the handkerchief to dab at his sweaty brow. All of the deep maroons were washing out of his cheeks, but his eyes were still bulging. Hermione certainly hoped they could handle whatever this Lady McCray threw at them.

As Mr. Reese was set down by Snape quite gently, he scurried into the street and hailed a carriage down with a wave of his hand. The filthy varnish of the wood reflected the three of them; Hermione stood beside Snape, who held himself in an upright posture while Mr. Reese’s shoulders buckled in. It seemed they finally had the upper hand for once. When the door opened, Hermione half expected to be brushed to the side by Snape, but she found him grasping the handle to allow their guide and her to enter first. As she passed Snape gave her a curt nod of approval. He seemed to be saying for the very first time ‘well done’, and Hermione did her best to ignore the flurry of pride in her chest at his approval. Two milestones in one day. Hermione couldn’t wait to tell Harry and Ron.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus was weighing his options, picking up the pros and cons like coins and placing them on the scale. Each ounce in either favor was still a gram, but grams became stones until all choices became treacherously heavy. Such is the life and thought process of a double-agent, Severus supposed. He had to count on knowing reactions from everything he ever did and would ever do.  Across from Severus, Mr. Reese sat while checking his pocket watch every few moments. To Severus' left and leaning against the window to take in her surroundings was Hermione. She was pressing her knees thoughtfully into the side of the carriage, remembering her manners as she gawked at the sidewalks and byways of a bygone London. Severus returned his gaze to Mr. Reese across from him. They watched each other like a mirror for a breath or two before Severus folded his arms. Mr. Reese straightened himself in defense.

"I saw you on the train when I went to get my tea, didn't I? I was passing you," Severus started. "So you must have boarded the train looking for us."

"I was sent to the Cotswolds on behalf of my employer, and it was fortuitous that we happened to be on the same return train to London. It made my job of retrieving you fairly easy," Mr. Reese said while absently patting his head for his hat. Realizing he'd left it behind in the alleyway, he let out an annoyed huff. Severus did not like circumstances.

"And why were you in the Cotswold area?"

"I believe that explanation is best left to Lady McCray, if you don't mind," Mr. Reese said with a truly apologetic tone. Severus noticed Hermione shift her head slightly to Mr. Reese, but she returned to sight-seeing moments after. Severus decided then to agree with her; they'd know soon enough why, and bullying the courier of a wealthy lady was no way to start a conversation.

The carriage rattled with each pothole, bump, and loose stone in the road. Outside, children were running beside the carriage with their hands outstretched to accept the possible charity of the riders. When Severus ignored them, they moved on to the next carriage with little persuasion. Ladies in fine clothes walked well groomed dogs while linking arms with men in stovepipe hats. A sea of dark colors flowed around them as smart black coats and dapper crowds moved about their daily business.  Without warning, the carriage moved into a street full of tall, crisp buildings with extravagant moulds, windows, and reliefs protruding from every available corner. Some of these buildings even had shallow yards in the front with maintained grass or bushes coming to life with springtime rain. The road conditions thankfully eased up as well. Severus was getting a stiff neck from trying to hold his head completely still to compensate for the jostling carriage ride.

The carriage came to a neat halt before a well-manicured iron gate painted in rich cream. There were a set of red stairs leading to an ornate black door in the dead center of the most colorful house on the street. The window trim was also gold and decorated with black gargoyles on each corner. The door even had an overhanging cover of stained glass like the ancient Gothic cathedrals, still dotted in the remnants of rain from the night before.  Mr. Reese left the carriage first while flipping a few coins to the driver. Hermione snapped out of her reprieve and followed Mr. Reese in suit. Severus did not anticipate the expectant glance Hermione made after she had grounded herself. She seemed to be checking to make sure he was still behind her. What, did she really think he'd just stay in the carriage? Severus scowled. Hermione Granger didn't need to play nanny. He wasn't going to dart off like a little boy.

Unsettled, for some reason he couldn't explain, he followed her from the carriage and took a moment to adjust his coat. He looked over Hermione's plain attire briefly. Would her shabby skirt be suitable? Then Severus took in the dimensional deep tones in the skin of Hermione's hand and paused. Would she be suitable? Severus didn't want to think like that, but when in Rome...

Mr. Reese was already moving ahead of them to open the gate. He practically skipped up the steps in his eagerness. With a bold knock on the heavy wooden door, Mr. Reese turned back around to give the pair a relaxed smile.

"The Lady Dyphmea McCray will accept you in the parlor, do feel free to hang your hats and coats on the hook anywhere you please," Mr. Reese advised. When the door opened, a small wrinkly creature dressed like a little maid opened the door. She had a bonnet on and small grey ringlets of what appeared to be doll hair hung from the sides as the half-pint figure ushered Mr. Reese inside. "Hullo, Tabby!"

"Mr. Reese, pleased to see! Guests! Come, come!" the house-elf Tabby grinned, her Slavic impersonation accent bouncing across the yard. Mr Reese also waved Severus and Hermione in, and Severus took an opportunity to stop Hermione from simply walking through the yard by snatching the edge of her bolero sleeves. The skin of her palm was cold as he reached to grab her wrist, and she looked up to him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance on her face.

"We can leave right now," Severus muttered under his breath. Hermione's eyes dropped as she thought about it. "We can find our own way."

"Reese was in Cotswolds because of the events before us, I suspect. If Lady McCray is looking for us in particular, then I want to know why. Even if it's a trap—at least we'll have more answers than when we started," Hermione sighed as if defeated. She gently pulled her arm away from Severus' grasp with a surreptitious glance around. With that, she crossed the yard in a few steps and was already making her way up the stairs by the time Severus was coming to terms with the situation.

When he made his way into the house, the first impression he got was that it was the home of a collector. That was a bad sign. Severus did not want to be 'collected', but the objects around him did fascinate him. It nearly reminded Severus of the wide range of magical tools and curiosities that Dumbledore used to keep in his office.  Old lamps and silver goblets occupied one shelf, while another reliquary contained what appeared to be a young wyvern skull only the size of a dog skull, although cerulean blue embers were settled in the depths of the eye sockets and seemed to follow Severus. Hermione also seemed enraptured by the baubles and various magical artifacts that whistled or chimed above them. The main staircase lay before them, but a well-lit foyer lay to their left that invited Severus with warm hearth fire.

Mr. Reese handed Tabby his coat while reaching for his hat again, then dejectedly rubbing the top of his bald head before moving into the foyer. Rich carpets muffled his footsteps as he seemed to comfortably navigate the home. Severus hung his coat but waited for the bolero, but Hermione dismissed him with a single shake of her head. Severus drew himself up once more and led the way through the empty living room and into the parlor.  The walls were invitingly bright, but not lacking tasteful decoration of the time; portraits, a wreath of spring flowers, and a china hutch beside a small window. Severus could see a back modest backyard where a bulldog was busy chewing on a stick of rawhide. Their host was seated with her back to them, her auburn hair elegantly coiffed at her neck as she sat on a velvet stool. Mr. Reese was beside her delivering a whispering sentence when he suddenly stopped to smile at Severus and Hermione.

"Mr. Strong, Miss Good, please," a delicate hand reached up and beckoned them. "You'll have to excuse my not standing to greet you. I suffer from a brittle bone disease and I am currently recovering from a recent injury." The woman's voice was warm and somehow she seemed familiar, but the brogue was distant and Gaelic sounding.

Severus and Hermione rounded the side of the woman. When they saw her face, the pair paused. It was the eyes; they were green and glowing with mystery and beauty, so familiar and recognizable Severus had to remind himself to breathe.

_ Lily? _

"Mr. Strong?" Mr. Reese said, clearing his throat meaningfully. Severus felt his face flush. The close doppelganger of Lily, the supposed 'Lady McCray', merely watched him with a bemused little smile that seemed more curious than offended. Severus dropped himself into the waiting seat with a rush that betrayed how disturbed he felt.

"I'm sorry," Hermione started, having already sat. "You remind us of somebody we knew." Hermione did not lift her eyes further than the teacup in front of Lady McCray who continued to smile serenely. Severus felt his embarrassment toward the woman turn into complete horror at Hermione's comment.

"I'm only me, and my name is Lady Dyphmea McCray. I cannot express my excitement at the opportunity to meet you. Please, tea? Tabby, tea dear," Dyphmea McCray called out so clearly that Severus heard her voice all around his head. Tabby snapped between Hermione and Severus while pouring two dainty cups of tea. Severus battled the overwhelming waves of wariness that rose up in him.

Hermione lifted the tea to her lips with an almost robotic effect and replaced the cup on the saucer with little more than a polite 'thank you' to Tabby. Severus noticed the stack of painted Tarot cards in front of Lady McCray, a few turned over. Of the three he could see, there were the king and five of wands, and the two of swords. A leader, a conflict, and a decision, if he recalled correctly from so many years ago.  Admittedly, he didn't truly believe in the magic of cards, but he had tried everything in his power to discern Voldemort's plans shortly before the attack on Godric's Hollow where Lily would be slain. Severus was reminded how well that worked as he watched Lady McCray flip the cards back over to hide them.

"I suppose you have questions; I do as well, but nothing is ever free. I will answer your questions with this," Lady McCray produced a small vial from her purse that looked like clear water. "I take it you know what this is?"

"Veratiserum," Hermione mumbled with uncharacteristic derision. "The Truth Potion."

"Very good. One drop each should do the trick for five minutes, I would say," Lady McCray said, unscrewing the delicate silver dropper and flicking one bead of the potion into her tea. She stirred it in with an appreciative smell. Of course, it was not the Veratiserum she could smell as it was odorless, colorless, and tasteless. "I use it sparingly, and strictly for business."

Lady McCray seemed...eccentric. Severus had to note her business tactic was odd, and he found himself wary of how real that Veratiserum was. Lady McCray studied him, Severus studied her in return. Her eyes flickered tellingly over to Hermione before returning to his. Severus turned to Hermione who remained mute between the pair.

"Miss Good, how are you feeling?" Severus edged with the most congenial tone in his ability. Hermione's chest heaved up but never released the sigh, as she was trying not to be rude.

"Awful. I'm feeling incredibly concerned about poison with whatever is in that vial that may or not be Veratiserum, and I'm nearly certain we'll be trapped in a position we cannot explain," Hermione replied with disdain.

Snapping out of her low opinions, she clapped her hands over her mouth with a gasp and stared at the cup in front of her with wide eyes. She'd already been slipped the potion. Severus looked back up at Lady McCray with dark eyes as she held the tea close to her mouth.

"What will it be, Mr. Strong?" Lady McCray's focused gaze seemed to dive deep into Severus, down into the cold pit of his stomach. This delicate, thin woman seemed so full of power. Severus eyed the tea in front of him. Of course, what better way to warm up than tea?

His fingers were reaching for the cup when Hermione removed one hand from her mouth in an attempt to cover the top of his teacup. Annoyed, Severus brushed it away, only to find it return in a moment. Her eyes were pleading and warning all at once. They conveyed what she dared not say out loud; she didn't trust this. Hermione's head shook ever so gently.  With a final glare he snatched the cup out from in front of Hermione and took a gulp while she remained distracted with his cup. The tea was sweet, but needed a little milk. Lady McCray surprisingly took a sip from the same cup herself once he returned it to Hermione. Bringing back that satisfied smile, she folded her hands in front of her while nodding in apparent sympathy.

"I don't blame your servant, Mr. Strong. It's a difficult thing—"

"If you're a Squib, how did you get access to magical items? And how do you know so much about us?" Severus quickly interjected. Lady McCray's face darkened as her lips twitched.

"I'm self-exiled from my family, a very prominent magical family in Ireland, and they gave me a magical upbringing and knowledge. I often send Mr. Reese on surveys to seek out truths behind magical-sounding stories. The Cotswolds told a story of a disappearing man and a monster roaming the countryside. My associate found you shortly after," Lady McCray said while returning the cup to the saucer. She lost most of her softness as she glowered at the pair for Severus’ interruption.  "I don't appreciate you taking advantage of my hospitality." Lady McCray added with a terse raise of her brows. Squib or not, it wasn't very much like Severus or Hermione had any upper had against the lady. "My turn. How did you handle the monster?"

"It was a Boggart, a shape-shifter that feeds from fear," Severus found himself replying with ease. He decided to follow it, as his passive tone seemed to settle their host. “It was killed," Severus noted. Lady McCray cast a glance over at Hermione and then back to Severus. The green eyes were so close to taking his breath away again.

"How absolutely tragic...for the creature, that is."

Behind Severus the clock ticked. He had been trying to count the moments, but he could not escape the depths of that face looking just like Lily. How did he ask his next question without giving away too much? What could he say that wouldn't backfire? Severus kept his back stiff and tried to control the fear in his chest. Severus glanced at Hermione who no longer bothered to pretend to be fine and was now openly glaring at the teacup in front of her.

"That Boggart  _ killed  _ a dog," Hermione jumped in. "It nearly attacked a Muggle—"

"What do you want?" Severus dared to ask. Lady McCray blinked a few times before shaking her head. Was that displeasure in Lady McCray's face?

"Coincidentally, I want what you want. I want to know how you got here, and why there is a wizard hunting you. Indeed,” Lady McCray assured when both Severus and Hermione flinched. “Somebody came with you. But, you should be thankful I'm not asking far more intrusive questions."

"If it's all the same, Lady McCray, but we don't know how we got here, or why. All we want is to return to where we came from," Hermione huffed. Lady McCray refused to look at Hermione now, definitely fighting her apparent insult at Hermione's open attitude. Severus wished that at this particular juncture, more than ever in her student career, she would shut up and let someone else answer the questions.

Lady McCray stirred her tea a little with the little spoon. It clinked against the sides of the glass gently, announcing the feather-fine motions done with the very edges of her fingers. It seemed like Lady McCray did nothing very fast or forcefully. Severus could see her dress was well fitting in the arms, but almost a little loose around the waist for the era. Her figure did not seem reigned in by any torturous corset or brace. Brittle bones, indeed.

"I'm in a unique position myself. I cannot participate like you do in the magical world. However, my eyes are open to the things contained within, and I'm not blessed with the ignorance that Muggles have. If I were to employ you, I would be willing to help you return to your own time—oh yes, I also know you're very far from home!—on the condition that you bring me whatever you recover," Lady McCray tantalized with a small smile.

Severus felt his heart quicken at the same time that Hermione picked her head up. But Hermione remained reserved, cautious to the offer. It made sense why she wouldn't report them to the Ministry; they'd be effectively smuggling contraband in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic. Azkaban would certainly hold them for the rest of their lives if they were caught.  But Lady McCray seemed to venerate their situation as almost desirable. To Severus, her reasoning made sense; with one foot planted firmly in both worlds, who wouldn't choose the more amazing? And it was possible that the Ministry would throw the pair into Azkaban anyway as time-travelers, which would leave them stranded.

"I would need your word," Severus began. "That you will assist us in returning to our time, and you will not pry into our identities. These things are most important."

"I will help you, of course," Lady McCray promised, her eyes alight with excitement. Severus swallowed a shiver at her now warm and eager attitude. “Perhaps, a demonstration of your abilities?”

Another few ticks passed from the grandfather clock. Severus hated being a trick pony. Magic is to be respected, not flitted around like some game. That was the way Potter treated magic, and why he never got the hang of Potions class until he stole Severus’ old book. It required an understanding—not just manipulation, or brute force.

It seemed that Hermione had no such reservations. "May I borrow your wand?" Hermione asked of Severus with a cold look in his direction. Cold wasn't even the right word; she sent an arctic force from her eyes alone. He produced his wand for Hermione while Lady McCray watched the transaction with envy masked as curiosity.

Without warning, the teapot in front of them sprung to life, using the silver legs underneath it to dance a merry little jig although Hermione’s face showed no amusement. As it bounced back and forth, Lady McCray let out a ringing laugh and clapped at the display. It seemed to egg the teapot on to dance faster, but it was quieted when Hermione released it from enchantment with a flick of Severus’ wand.  Lady McCray dabbed at the little spots of tea on her table runner with a quiet smile while Tabby sent the tea accessories away from their sight. Business had been concluded. Beside her, Mr. Reese made his first move and pulled a contract from a side desk, along with a traditional quill and inkpot. The quality of the pieces were exquisite. The feather was a large ostrich plume and the ink came from a crystal pot with a rubber stopper. Severus could tell that business for Lady McCray was good.

Severus took in the details of the pension with as much interest as Lady McCray seemed to take in him. This would do nicely; room and board, a company line of credit, as well as a small salary to get them furnished with what they needed. Hermione remained still beside him as he signed the contract with a flourishing sweep of his new name, Mr. Severus Strong, and dated the contract beside it; May 3rd, 1888.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again dear readers! I just wanted to say to everyone who has been clicking in so far with comments and hits and kudos I really appreciate you all for your encouragement! You guys are the life-blood of the fandom and I am so happy that so many people have given my first fiction a chance. I'e gotten a lot of really positive reception here at AO3 and it really has been warming my heart!  
> On that note, I am here to also inform and warn that there will be more explicit verbiage and period typical racism within this and the next chapter, and thank you all thus far to being to receptive to the fic. It means more to me than you could ever know.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, rolling the loaned wand (from Lady McCray's personal collection, of course) back and forth between her fingers. She twirled it gently, bringing a swirl of yellow canaries into existence, then back out again. The wand worked well, if not a little too eager and jumpy. It was a short wand, maybe only 8 1/2 inches at most with knots traveling up and down the sides. To Hermione, the design was a very old style wand made with natural elements in mind, and the handle was wrapped in a thin leather ribbon for extra grip. Hermione set it on the bedside table with a gentle hand.

After they had signed their portions of the contract which Snape never even bothered to discuss with Hermione, they'd been welcomed to stay in the house and offered fresh clothes. Hermione glanced across the room to the selection that Tabby had brought to her. They were good clothes, assuredly, but Hermione was wary at the gifts. Truth be told she didn't trust any of this one bit.

If they left, Lady McCray could report them to the Ministry. She was obviously versed in their situation. Hermione would have to figure out how Lady McCray knew they were from a different time. And the Muggle assistant Mr. Reese seemed unphased by most of the conversation. He must have seen plenty in his indentured time to Lady McCray and her fascination with magical objects. Finally dressed in the few clothes that would fit, Hermione decided to slip back downstairs to the entryway where a small collection of books beckoned her. With nobody in the halls, Hermione was able to take in the antique vases, portraits, and hundreds of well-cared for miscellaneous treasures. A gem-encrusted ring hung from a protruding hook mounted to the wall. Upon closer inspection the ring was made of what appeared to be a vertebrae and was decorated in some Asian script along the inside band. There was a doll that was missing an arm, and the case that contained it declared _'Under No Circumstances To Open'_.

Everything had a place and nothing was collecting dust of any sort; Tabby must work very hard here. Hermione pursed her lips and hoped the poor house-elf at least got some time to herself. Hermione descended the stairs, her hand lightly resting on the banister as she tried to take easy steps down the carpeted pathway to keep her feet muffled. At the base of the stairs, Hermione poked her head far enough around the corner to see if Lady McCray was anywhere in sight. Satisfied that she was alone, Hermione browsed the book before her. To her disappointment none of the titles clearly indicated anything about time magic. It was an obscure topic after all, but Hermione had hoped somebody like Lady McCray would have something in her possession.

"Can I assist you?"

Hermione yelped, bashing her head on the front of the shelf as she jerked upright and whirled about. Lady McCray was leaning against the edge of the banister with a small purple bag in her free hand and a smile on her face. The pale lips were set like she was holding in a secret. Hermione fumbled with fixing her skirt for a moment, smoothing her hands against the front of the borrowed material obsessively.

"N-No, I'm sorry," Hermione replied quietly. All the tension from earlier, the sharp glares from Lady McCray in Hermione's direction, seemed to have dispersed. Lady McCray held out the hand that was hanging onto the banister with a question on her face. She seemed to want Hermione to take it.

"Could you lend me a shoulder? I left my cane in the other room, you see," Lady McCray said with an apologetic smile. Oh, that was it?

Hermione stepped forward, allowing Lady McCray to rest her hand on Hermione's shoulder. She made sure to match the slow pace set by Lady McCray, but it was most definitely Lady McCray who guided Hermione back into the tea room. Once there Lady McCray was able to lower herself back onto her tufted stool with a wince. Her shoulders slumped a little with a sigh escaping her. Lady McCray opened her bag, pulling out the ornate deck of Tarot cards she'd seen earlier and laying five out in a cross pattern, one in the center and four at each side. Lady McCray did not turn over the cards to reveal their face at first, instead looking up to Hermione and nodding at the cards.

"Do you read?" Lady McCray asked, and Hermione felt her skin prickle in worry that the wrong words would get her more trouble. "I have a cousin named Cassandra who was dedicated to the craft. She spent years upon years learning. I chose to study them because it is the closest thing I can get to my heritage of renowned wizards and witches," Lady McCray confessed with a bashful tone. Hermione sat beside her.

"I don't," Hermione admitted. "But my teacher always said I didn't possess Sight," Hermione offered as her excuse. Lady McCray flipped over the top card. It was an angel standing under golden stars pouring water into a stream, and it was labeled 'Temperance'. As Hermione looked closer, she could see the water actually flowing from the vase in her arms. The cards had enchantments like the portraits of the school.

"Every day, I look at the cards. I love them and respect them," Lady McCray said, flipping over the center card. Now beheld a curling black dragon with a single star between the horns. Here, the background of golden mountains shimmered with luster. "But they are not perfect. More than showing me the future, they help me identify my true thoughts and feelings," Lady McCray mused. Hermione blinked. That did seem like what she'd always suspected about things like palm reading and Tarot cards; they were not oracles, they were guides and tools of spiritualists. Hermione felt more at ease with understanding Lady McCray's motivation.

"That being said," Lady McCray began again as she turned over a card depicting five cups turned on their sides with their contents pouring eternally, though it was upside down to Lady McCray. "Magic exists. Doesn't it lend itself to the impossible, as well?"

The fourth card was a woman in regal gowns, her hand holding a cup to her breast, and her hair blew gently in the wind. The fifth card was another woman holding what appeared to be a heart and offering it to the viewer, and the character shed a tear over the heart that had been pierced three times by swords. As Hermione watched Lady McCray study the cards for a moment, she felt closer to understanding the topic more than she'd ever learned at Hogwarts itself. Lady McCray looked up at Hermione with another kind smile. Hermione could see how everyone could fall in love with that kind and open expression.

"Are you married, Lady McCray?" Hermione decided to ask, knowing that being forthright was the key to communication. Lady McCray's face darkened briefly but thankfully not at Hermione herself. Lady McCray slipped the cards back into her deck before wrapping them lovingly in the purple velvet bag.

"My affliction has always prevented me. Potential suitors discovered my inability to bear children and decided it wasn't worth the trouble involved," Lady McCray replied crisply, but not angrily. "Tabby! Tea, dear," Lady McCray called with a bounding voice, startling Hermione as Tabby popped up between the ladies. Tabby floated Lady McCray's tea to her but allowed Hermione to grasp the cup herself. With a little curtsy, the house-elf was gone again.

Lady McCray glanced at Hermione over the top of her cup. Her eyes, green and deep, were disarming in their beauty. She had a strong nose and though her lips were thin they were expressive and always hosting a rather gentle smile. Hermione thought she could see faint traces of Harry in her face, but that was not real. Lady McCray was not Lily Potter; Hermione would have to keep reminding herself that.

Harry had discussed Snape’s love for his mother to Voldemort as he revealed that the puppets of his control were bound by other things, like love, or the loss of it. What would Snape say to Hermione if she revealed she knew about that? It was so intimate about him that Hermione didn't even know when such a thing would come up in conversation. Hermione tried to imagine him in love, but she only saw him in the Hogwarts Potions class, indifferent as stone.

"Have you ever been in love, Miss Good?" Lady McCray returned.

Hermione didn't know how to respond. Had she? Sure, she'd liked Viktor a little because he was polite and charming, but it wasn't more than a crush. Harry was a close second to that, probably. Ron's face came to mind. His goofy smile, the way he always seemed ready for anything; yes, Hermione could say she admired him. Hermione decided that her feelings toward Ron were the closest to what she’d call love, between the time she spent pining over him and the occasional fight. Unfortunately they didn't have a lot of time to figure out their feelings since the war had broken out. She didn't have time to process how she felt about any boy between classes and Horcrux battles and Death Eaters cutting out pieces of her arm—

"I don't know," Hermione said, her fingers looping and then relaxing around the handle of the tea cup in front of her. Lady McCray hummed in an appreciative response.

"You're still very young, my dear. In time perhaps you'll find someone. How long have you been in Mr. Strong's service?" Lady McCray asked while lifting the tea to her lips again. A hot flash shot through Hermione at the assumption, but she had to swallow it. It was still considered the norm here. Hermione raised her head up with a little pride.

"It's not service. Mr. Strong was initially my instructor," Hermione started. "After that—"

"Your paranormal business, it was? Yes, the little card was quite well figured. If anybody had any questions, you could say you were studying the obscure. How lucky then it must be to you that somebody actually wants things that way," Lady McCray replied. Hermione felt the urge to snap and tell her that Lady McCray had nothing to do with her at all. "It is so tempting, you know," Lady McCray sighed while taking in Hermione's face.

"What is tempting?" Hermione asked as evenly as she could.

"Well, to ask you about the future, of course!" Lady McCray half-laughed. Her eyes seemed hungry, and the smile stretched her cheeks out just a little too far. "I'm already well aware that war will happen at some point in the near future. I have an art dealer with a knack for telling these things. But what of the amazing advancements! Not even the cards can describe the world beyond my life," Lady McCray said with a gaze to the deck like a lover.

Hermione felt the skin at her back grow hot again, and it wasn't from the nearby sunlight beaming through any of the stain-glass windows in colorful shapes. She was very much already feeling at the mercy of her host but this was not for Hermione to say. The laws of time-travel were unstable under the best of circumstances. How much had they already changed? How much was there more to be undone? It was this fear that kept Hermione's lips closed. As Lady McCray's eyes flickered back and forth between Hermione's, the kind light in them went out. In the absence of warmth only a bottomless pit of hunger remained.

"I wonder very much what the future holds for the inferior peoples. Tell me; are Negroes and Squibs equal, or is one still lesser?" Lady McCray taunted in her soft voice. Hermione remained mute now from shock slowly boiling into anger.

From the other room was a blessed sound, the _tmp-tmp-tmp_ of feet rapidly descending the carpeted stairs with drive and purpose. The feet rounded the corner of the living room into the tea parlor with little announcement or ceremony. Dressed in a clean shirt of fine quality, trousers and a crisp short tie, Snape looked like a new man. He'd even taken a small ribbon and pulled back the edges of his long dark hair toward the nape of his neck. He sensed that he'd stumbled in on something he wasn't supposed to be an audience of, and Snape cast a quick glance between Lady McCray and Hermione.

"I apologize, if I'm interrupting," Snape offered as his eyes landed a little hard on Hermione. Lady McCray gave him that sweet smile again that made Hermione want to gag.

"Just Miss Good being so thoughtful as to come down and thank me for my hospitality, she is a bright one!" Lady McCray winked at Hermione with another sip of her tea. "I should inform you both I'm having my Society party this Saturday with a few friends. It's all magical folk so no need to be worried! I would be very excited to have you join—"

"We will have to decline," Snape said while folding his hands in front of himself. "In fact, our most immediate task is looking for a route back to where we need to be."

Hermione almost felt her gut heave in relief. Thank goodness he was still able to make the moves she could not, and the decisions not afforded to somebody like Hermione. She swallowed the lump of appreciation in her throat and knew a light was at the end of the tunnel. Hermione could barely contain the smug smile creeping over her face that she tried to transform into a sympathetic expression. Lady McCray responded in kind with a knowing little smirk while feigning her disappointment.

"I would agree, which is why I called upon my dear friends...and one source who claims to have seen the wizard tracking you, Mr. Strong."

Hermione wondered exactly what Lady McCray _couldn’t_ ask a friend of hers—it was obviously a very short list. Lady McCray returned to casually sipping her tea while Hermione allowed her own cup to grow cold. Snape blinked only once as if unaffected, and perhaps he was. But Hermione was feeling incredibly cornered in 1888.

"I certainly hope this party preludes a job, Lady McCray. That is the main purpose of our contract," Snape replied rather briskly.

He nodded at Lady McCray as she remained at a brief loss for words before snapping at Hermione with crisp fingers. Annoyed with his method, Hermione stood and thanked Lady McCray for tea before following Snape's back into the garden. With no explanation Snape knelt beneath the window under the kitchen and began digging through the muddy roots of tulips until he found a few garden worms and a beetle. He passed them to Hermione who initially didn't take them, but he shot her an exasperated glare over his shoulder. She cupped her hands and accepted the filthy, squirmy creatures. Snape moved over to a bushel of delicate purple flowers and plucked a few petals from their stems.

"Sir, what are you—"

"I expect silence," Snape replied. Hermione had half a mind to drop these little bugs down the back of his new white shirt.

"And I expect the respect afforded a human being and not your _slave_ , Severus Snape," Hermione snarled in a low voice, squatting beside him. His hands stopped their intrusive motions against the flower petals. "If I don't start getting it, I can’t imagine I’ll be much help to you," Hermione's threat trailed off in a huff. Snape kept his eyes forward; he didn't speak, didn't even blink, just stared ahead at the flowers. Around them a breeze promising more rain rose up to move the grasses, the flowers, and the whole world.

Snape stood and wiped his hands on his trousers with little care to the clothes themselves until he noticed he was dusting off on borrowed items. He took more care in wiping his hands against themselves to free the fingers of lingering dirt. It seemed to Hermione that Snape did a lot of retroactive thought. Hermione also stood; she was tired of feeling inferior; she was an accomplished witch and there was no very good reason for this kind of treatment anymore.

"I haven't acknowledged what you have done," Snape stated, his voice sounding thin and jerky. "Your feelings are valid, from your point of view. I...well, we should work together as it were. I don't trust this woman. We have to find out what we can and then leave as quickly as possible. That means you need to blend in better—be considerate of the senses, or rather, the lack of them it at this time. The fault doesn't lie with them for their ignorance, it's a societal thing. I cannot stress that enough. Agreed?"

"Yes!" Hermione sighed, her head drooping with the sudden weight of tension lifted from her. Finally, some sense! Hermione thought to herself. She could work with that compromise. "I can't agree more."

"Acting will keep us alive, but you don't have to tolerate...well," Snape waffled, unwilling to say what he meant but Hermione understood. In a way he was saying she was safe as long as she played along, and he would help her. Again Hermione was relying solely on Snape to guide and navigate them. She must have lost her mind.

"Now do try and keep up. You never know who is watching," Snape muttered with a bitter tone and suspicious whirl of his head in every direction. "Take those to my room. In the cauldron on the dresser, I have a mixture going that requires essence of the ground, and with any luck it'll tell us if any Dark magic has been happening here," Snape said, and Hermione straightened her back to get to work.

As she held out her hands to accept the flower petals she caught sight of something wicked from their past. The edge of the Dark Mark peeked out from under the edge of Snape's rolled sleeve, the ever-curled tongue of the snake and the open maw of the skull seeming to be eternally hungry. Hermione recalled the first time she'd seen it hovering over the Quidditch World Cup of 1994, and then the last time when Dumbledore had been slain. It glittered above the Astronomy Tower in a shimmering outline of green smoke as it hung over the body of the greatest sorcerer in living memory. Hermione looked away as his hand came up to roll the sleeve down a little further. She couldn't think about that right now...but she also couldn't forget it. Wordlessly, Hermione turned away and took the crawling bugs and petals into the house, balled up in her fist as she fought with herself about Snape’s conclusion that Harry, and all of their allies, had failed.

The only way to know for sure was to get home. Home, that distant thing. Would there even be a home to go to? Between the war, her parents in Australia with false memories, and the possibility that the war still had longer to go, Hermione wasn't sure that home as she once knew it would exist. The days did not pass easily. To keep occupied, Hermione kept to her room for the week, only coming out at the appropriate times to eat or grab a new book. There were plenty of those in the home of various interests. It was no Hogwarts library but it would suffice. Hermione made sure to avoid Lady McCray at her scheduled Tarot reading hour and instead found solace in friendly conversation with Mr. Reese, the Muggle assistant to Lady McCray and her accounts manager.

Mr. Reese was happy to chat with Hermione when he wasn't busy, and he proudly told Hermione that he'd been working with Lady McCray as a 'distributor and artifacts dealer' for almost a decade. Lady McCray purveyed and collected Muggle antiques as often as she did magical ones, which had offered her a rather lucrative business for the past nine years after coming to London with no independent prospects of her own. Mr. Reese confided in Hermione that Lady McCray's parents were embarrassed by their weak daughter and never expected her to make a name for herself, so she moved out to London to prove them wrong. And wrong they had been; Lady Mcray was well known in both worlds as the go-to curator. During the week, Lady McCray hosted private lunch meetings with quite the variety of characters, sometimes purchasing and sometimes selling. She always finished these deals with a hungry little smile.

Snape paid no heed to Hermione, leaving her mostly to her devices and pretending she didn't exist as he studied various incantations from the books he found in Lady McCray's study. That was just as well. Hermione became rather engrossed in her chicken-scratch equations after the first three restless days, and Hermione decided she didn't have time to deal with his sour attitude. The only time she assisted him was in bringing up fresh linens for his neck now and again which he insisted he bandage on his own. Snape would neither let Hermione nor Tabby near him to help with that.

After her quick delivery of linens on Saturday's lustrous afternoon, Hermione made her retreat with a borrowed book titled ' _Majiks of the Arabias_ ' that she'd pulled from the second-floor study. Hermione thumbed through the thick scroll-like parchment for a few hours before a polite little knock on the door brought her from the pages of old Arabic incantations. In the hallway, Hermione found Tabby hoisting a swath of cream cloth above her head to prevent it from dragging on the ground.

"Lady McCray asked Tabby to bring dinner clothes, Miss," Tabby panted as she used her thin arms to lift the dress twice her height. When Hermione noticed it was a single piece instead of a two-set, Hermione balked at the tiny waist of the dress. Currently, she'd managed to get away with wearing smaller clothes until this moment with the ability to pull the waistband of the skirts a little higher into the bend of her waist, and she folded the shirts under themselves rather than tuck them in. Not even her time in the war and the weight she’d lost from lack of food had been enough to make these fashionably slim clothes any easier.

They'd gotten their signing bonus to purchase necessities which Snape used for potion ingredients and a single extra shirt. It was easy enough for him. Although Hermione gave the nearby Muggle clothes-maker her measurements, the skirt came back pinching at the waist. Their situation was supposed to be temporary so Hermione decided to just suck it up. As long as she could breathe Hermione didn't mind too much. Tabby brushed past Hermione completely when she didn’t reply and laid the dress down on the bed. She began unbuttoning the dress' many fastening by hand, curiously enough, as Hermione watched her. House-elves' efficiency was made possible by their special brand of wandless magic that allowed them to perform at the same rate as any wizard or witch, but here this clothed house-elf was doing things by hand?

"Tabby, does Lady McCray treat you well?" Hermione tip-toed. Tabby smiled up to her, her large eyes practically glimmering in the light.

"Lady McCray, yes," Tabby assured. "Lady McCray likes Tabby to do by hand when she can, Miss," Tabby informed with a very sure voice. It offered no more explanation though it was a very gentle request to stop Hermione from prying. Tabby held open the dress for Hermione who let out an embarrassed laugh.

"I don't think I can fit that," Hermione said, glancing down at herself. Lady McCray was so slight and waifish in comparison that Hermione was incredibly lucky any loaner clothes of hers fit at all. That was another defining trait that reminded Hermione that Lady McCray was not at all Lily Potter; she was not nearly strong enough. Tabby eyed Hermione with little modesty.

"Perhaps...hm," Tabby thought to herself, and she snapped herself out of the room with a short crack, only to reappear in a blur with a satisfied grin. In her grasp was a cone shaped article that looked very old. Of course, old was relative to a time-traveler. Hermione eyed the undergarment with displeasure.

"I'll have to put that on, won't I?"

"Lady McCray cannot wear it, her bones are thin," Tabby said. "This was from when Lady McCray was little in case she grew stronger. Been away for so long," Tabby sighed with a loving pet over the embroidered edges of the corset. Hermione swallowed. "Tabby will help Miss with it."

Soon, Hermione was standing in the center of the room with an undershirt called a 'chemise' on, and Tabby was tugging at the lacing of the corset as deftly as Hermione had ever seen fingers move, since Tabby had moved her to the mirror to watch so she could 'learn how to dress properly', at Tabby's insistence. With each crossing cinched tighter, Hermione felt the boning pushing against her ribs and the compression warming her stomach. Hermione became aware that ladies fainting from these things was a historically real threat. She thought of the foyer fireplace downstairs and wondered how she was supposed to sit with it digging into her stomach. And eating anything? It was a wonder these so-called ladies did anything except throw themselves on a chaise and wither away!

Just when Hermione was certain it wasn't going to get any tighter, Tabby wrapped the satin ribbon around the artificial bend of Hermione's waist to tie it off neatly in a little bow like a present. Hermione tested her lungs and found that she could breathe through lifting her chest rather than her stomach. It caused the tops of her breasts to swell in a strange way that Hermione had never seen. It was either the Hogwarts uniform or a jumper and t-shirt for Hermione. Displaying any sort of heaving bosoms had never really crossed Hermione's mind.

It was surreal to see the completely different shape to her body, composed of curves and dips. Her shoulders were pushed back to elongate her neck and make her silhouette more refined. After the corset was on, the dress slipped on like a dream and clung to her all over. It was an absolute torture to put on, though. With all these shapes Hermione seemed more severe, or older than she felt. Tabby climbed a four-foot ladder and pinned back Hermione’s hair with a hundred different pins, allowing Hermione to see her face and dressing process clearly in the side mirror.

The Victorian evening dress was now fitting her exactly as it should. Her neck was free, and the shoulders of her dress sat right on the joint of her arms. The plain bell shaped design was less befitting than somebody of Lady McCray's status which is why Hermione suspected she was wearing it. The dress was a pale cream dress, cut from simple cotton dotted in little blue flowers and a layered bustle of powdery blue at the small of her back, the color reminding Hermione of the dress she'd worn to the Yule Ball. How many years ago was that? Had to have been maybe four or five, now. There was just one problem to the dress that Hermione noted with growing concern. It did not have sleeves. _Mudblood_ hung from her arm for all to see. The guests were magical folk and they would all see her scar. They would ask questions that hurt almost as much as the healing process that was arduous and embarrassing.

"Tabby?" Hermione asked as she cleared her throat. "Do you...is there anything I can borrow to cover this?" Hermione said through the hitch in her voice. Bellatrix's face hanging over her flashed into view for a moment until Hermione looked away from the scar in the mirror, but the ringing in her ears kept trilling on for only Hermione to hear. Tabby held out blessedly long blue silk gloves that slipped up to her elbows. "Thank you," Hermione replied on autopilot.

"Miss looks lovely, yes," Tabby assured while straightening the hem of the dress. The borrowed clothes, the prospect of working for that strange woman, none of it mattered right now. Hermione wanted to get home and make the people who made her life hell pay for mistreating her for something so insignificant as her parentage. She'd do whatever it took to get there. And she'd bring that son of a bitch who brought them here, too.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last warning, I promise! I know it might seem gratutious, maybe many readers don't care that I have words like this in the story, but for those that might miss the tag or would just prefer a warning, this is for you!

Dinner was strictly at seven under the request of Lady McCray. Guests would arrive from her 'society group for magical and paranormal phenomenon', or as Mr. Reese called it, the Society. There were no acronyms that would fit their group name. The group name itself barely fit in the mouth, Severus noted with a small roll of his eyes. How pretentious could this Lady McCray get? From what Severus could gather while watching their new guardian angel, she was an artifacts dealer. Lady McCray was decidedly not a very legitimate one by the way Ministry officials smiled when she pulled out her purse during 'tea with friends'.

Severus shut the door firmly after Mr. Reese had invited Severus to meet the Society with a meek little smile, returning to the small cauldron in the corner of his room and checking the ingredients. It would take thirteen hours to brew to completion once he'd stirred it with his left hand in total darkness for one solid hour. With just twelve hours to go, and he'd know if Dark magics had been performed here within the last year. It worked by pulling in the residue of such evil spells that lingered in the air like mold spores, turning the mixture from a pure white into a blood red.

Severus rolled his sleeves down over his forearms one more time. He looked at the Dark Mark as it disappeared under the shirt. Yes, he was quite familiar with these things. Hermione had seen it when he'd stooped to gather pieces of the garden, and though she'd turned away from it with as much nonchalance as she could muster, he'd seen the reflection of its power in her eyes. Severus had seen the same disapproving looks before. It started when Severus lost his friendship to Lily, when he said that awful word. Was there a tear on the corner of Lily's cheek or just a trick of the light when he'd called her by that name? Severus would never know. He'd never see her alive afterward. But here and now Lily Evans was a distant dream, and it was almost better that way.

Severus had felt like it was a nasty trick to see that woman downstairs looking just like Lily. Why did she bear that likeness? And worse yet—she seemed like a conniving, self-serving woman with a mind for business and secrets. If Severus hated anything, it was somebody who played his game better than he did. Severus had to admit Lady McCray was very good at his game. But there were other consequences to deal with. Hermione seemed to be on the edge of her patience with him already, and truly it was his own doing. Severus had been careless in his lack of appreciation. Hermione had unflinchingly saved the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, and all she asked for was a little respect. Severus snorted in the mirror as he fiddled with his cravat. _Respect_? When had he ever gotten it from Hermione Granger, or her two idiot best friends? They'd been flicking off rules like flies since they were children.

Severus restarted his cravat and admitted that it wasn't exactly fair to compare the Hermione of then to the situation of now. Simply put, they were just two people with a common goal instead of enemies. Hermione picked up a work-driven attitude like an old hat while Severus watched her all week for any inclination that she'd hex him. It was like she just willingly put aside the known facts and realized Severus was Hermione's best chance to get home. Severus couldn't blame her for trying to make the best of a less-than-desirable situation. It had been a tense week for both of them as the waited in Lady McCray's home, and it seemed like more than just girl-gossip was being shared over tea when he'd interrupted Lady McCray and Hermione earlier in the week. Hermione was smart, but Severus was concerned that Lady McCray was too devious for Hermione's good-natured intelligence.

Severus inspected a cosmoscope in the corner of his room, remarkably tuned to correct placement of the stars with its original fixtures. It must have cost a fortune; the sun was a giant yellow diamond the size of a walnut, and their tiny blue planet was a sapphire and emerald cluster. Each planet was some obscenely high-quality gem, and the stars were glittering fragments of ultra reflective opals. It was another rare and beautiful piece in Lady McCray's possession which served as a reminder for what would happen to them if they didn't figure out how to get back to 1998. Circling the edge of their star system was what looked like a decorative ring upon first glance, but it was in fact the full face of a clock. It spun around the outside rather than remain fixed while hands rotated. It was nearly six-thirty and downstairs he could hear the chime of the doorbell. The Society guests were arriving with punctuality now, and although Severus abhorred trivial functions such as these, he knew he should make an appearance as Lady McCray's guest. This was like Horace's Slug Club all over again.

Severus pulled on his coat again while making sure the edge of his collar was flush against the new bandages that Tabby had provided for him. She promised that under Lady McCray's care he'd soon be right as rain. It was strange, but despite his unease about his employer, it was preferable than being back at home. There were no Death Eaters. There was no Lord Voldemort, here at least. The war was decades away from now. Severus considered his silhouette in the mirror. If he just kept his head down he could blend in with the natives of their new environment in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time. Notoriety was just as smearing as fame, Severus thought as he made sure to tug his shirt-sleeves fully to his wrists. With that in mind Severus pulled open his door just as a figure passed his door like a breezing ghost.

Her hair was dark and thick like rope, but it was expertly parted down the center of the crown and pulled into a low bun at the back. Two coils of loose hair were let free at the temple and hung down in front of her ears. The once untamable mane had been efficiently smoothed into a neat style. Blue silk flowers were pushed into the bun to fasten it in place, tying into the color sprinkled across the dress. The pale gown was such a high contrast to her skin that Severus didn't know where to look first—at her midnight black shoulders where his gaze might be unwelcome, or the soft blue lace detailing the rounded neckline. Matching satin gloves wrapped the shapely arms just below the elbow. But her walk was all wrong; she looked so stiff and uncomfortable that Severus realized who this figure was as she was about to descend the stairs. Descend was a strong word. She would probably trip and break her neck before she got to the dinner table.

" _Good_!" Severus hissed while still trying to get used to their pseudonyms. Thankfully, Hermione stopped to look at him.

With one hand on the banister and turning just slightly back to see him, she looked like she stepped out of one of the ancient portraits of Hogwarts. Severus didn't know why he'd called out to her. Was he trying to warn her? Scold her posture? The moment slipped away as he watched her stare at him, impetuous and already snappy with frustration. Hermione glanced down the grand stairs for a moment before hoisting the edges of her skirt and half-jogging back to him when he didn't speak any further. It was on closer viewing that he could see exactly what was wrong with her gait; she'd been laced so tight into a corset that she could barely move her legs independently of her waist. There was nothing about her that looked natural or comfortable.

"Yes?" Hermione replied tersely, dropping her skirt and smoothing it out with a quick flip of the fingers. She was getting quite good at that. Severus struggled for a moment, shifting back and forth between his feet with nothing to say until he remembered his potion.

"In twelve hours—"

"Yes, 'thirteen hours from production will conclude if Dark magics have been performed on the premises of the gathered ingredients', also known as the Deluge of the Dark. I know," Hermione rattled off in a breathy voice, another symptom of the corset under her dress. Why on earth was she wearing the damned thing if it was such a trouble? "I considered using it to see if Horcruxes were in the area when Harry and I were looking for them, but it just took too long, and the range is too small."

Of course she had thought of it, Severus thought to himself. Hadn't she been the one to figure out Polyjuice Potion her second year? Dumbledore had told them of their indiscreet mistake when mentioning Hermione had accidentally turned herself into a cat. Still she had made the potion completely alone at age twelve. When most twelve year old children have the attention span of a Cornish Pixie, he had found himself impressed at her fastidiousness over a month-long brew. He had decidedly not been impressed to discover she'd pilfered his supplies to do such a task.

She looked back over her shoulder toward the sound of happy voices beneath them. More guests. Hermione went to take in a breath to sigh but found herself practically unable. Severus looked down and saw half of a scar peeking out from the rolled-down gloves. Not wishing to experience any embarrassment with the guests, Severus pulled the ribbon from his hair and passed it to her. When she gave him a concerned look he pointedly stared down at her arm. With a gasp, Hermione began tugging at the satin glove to pull it back up. She snatched the offered ribbon from his hand and tried to loop it at the bend of her elbow, finding that it was too difficult to do with one hand. Feeling cornered with her just standing in front of him and his open door Severus swatted her hand away and took the edges of the black ribbon in his own fingers.

"You're taking too long, I don't know why you didn't just use your wand," Severus grumbled in explanation. Hermione remained still long enough for Severus to tie the ribbon around her arm as firmly as he dared without sinking the edge too deeply into her skin. She did not look at what he was doing, but rather at his face. Severus did not return her stare. Soon the offensive word was covered and Hermione tucked her elbow against her rib-cage as best as she could.

"I'd like to know where you think I have a wand right now, I don't have any pockets."

"That's not my concern," Severus mumbled back. He shut the door firmly behind him, locking it with an Anti-Trespass Jinx he'd picked up from Alastor Moody—may peace rest his furious, bitter soul. Hermione turned back to the stairs with as much movement as she could and fought to use more graceful steps. It was almost silly to watch her. They were never going to make it through this dinner, Severus thought bitterly. At least they'd be sitting for a large portion of it. Severus let her completely fall out of sight before he took the dreaded path himself. A friendly laugh rang through the stairwell and Hermione stopped just short of the foyer. Severus cleared his throat behind her. When she didn't move, Severus took the next few stairs down until he was just three steps behind and well within whispering distance.

"Move, Good," Severus breathed out. Hermione's knuckles curled on the banister a few times. He saw her shoulders rise as if to take in air, but she would not move. Severus dropped one more stair closer. "If I have to remind you that I'll be here with you the entire time, I'm going to have you write a three-foot scroll of lines," Severus threatened.

To his complete shock Hermione let out a faint snicker. Before he could ask what she found so hilarious, she turned around and sneered at him. No, she smiled. Hermione did this with no malice.

"Go ahead and try. It sounds like you're still pretending to be a professor at Hogwarts, and I already dropped out," Hermione replied with a scoff while shaking her head.

Severus watched her face with nothing to say at her peculiar comment, and she shrugged while peeling her hand from the banister. Hermione adjusted her posture once more with a roll of her shoulders and set her course for the foyer. Beyond his line of sight he could hear Lady McCray announce Hermione with a cheerful voice. Her introduction was met with little reception—at most, there were one or two polite hello's. Just when Severus thought the silence had gone on too long, Hermione thanked the unknown crowd for allowing her and her 'business partner' to join their soiree. That must be his cue. He was pleased that she hadn't let her cold welcome stop her from laying the charm on. That would be crucial to fitting in.

Severus descended the stairs and found himself meeting with a diverse group of men, along with Mr. Reese, and Lady McCray while Hermione stood off to the side. Lady McCray had in her grasp a cane of ivory and pearl to keep herself upright, and the casual dress of earlier was replaced with a silk gown with the high and relaxed cut of the Regency Era. Her long auburn hair was pulled into loops with a headband also adorned in pearls. He wondered about the extent of her disease, if it meant she could not even wear what was considered decent fashion of the time.

But he did not have time to dwell on this; without warning, Lady McCray took feather-light steps until she was beside Severus, and her free hand wrapped around the bend of his elbow. She smiled up at him with the warmth of summer. Of course, when the measurement of his person flickered across her eyes like a goblin eyeing gold, Severus was brought out of that near-whimsical thought with a snap. Lady McCray returned to the group of men in front of them, who all must have been used to her using people for support, as nobody batted an eye while they talked among themselves. The tone in the room was that of acquaintances who tipped their noses at her informally and said nothing to Severus, though he did not miss their inspecting eyes. On her other side was Mr. Reese at the ready, just a few paces behind like a bloated shadow.

“Are your quarters decent? I asked that Tabby be sure to air them out. I don’t often have guests,” Lady McCray excused as if genuinely embarrassed by the state of her home.

“Fine, madam,” Severus assured while waiting to see what she really wanted from him. When no other questions came, Lady McCray simply beamed at his answer.

“Splendid! I hope you’re ready, Mr. Strong, to meet my Society," Lady McCray said while tugging on his elbow to guide him.

One of the men, strangely enough, was familiar to Severus. His eyes were a sharp blue as he sipped delicately at the glass of wine from under his curled mustache. He was gaunt and his eyes were lucid yet in their own world. "That is Nichola Tesla, my wizard of the storms. Mr. Tesla has been so engrossed in studying the forms of magical energy and its potential that I wonder if he ever sleeps!" Lady McCray said while gently steering him through the guests.

The next, a younger man maybe in his early twenties at best with an oval face and a keen light in his eyes. He gave Severus a warm smile and raised his glass. "A fellow scavenger! Happy hunting, Lady McCray does love her strange little trinkets," the man said in a conspiratorial tone. "Howard Carter, curse breaker and archaeologist, as Muggles call it," Carter said mostly through his wide nose. Ah, Howard Carter; the man who would find the boy king in Egypt, Pharaoh Tutankhamun.

Severus only nodded his head in acknowledgement and offered only his name, as Lady McCray didn’t stop for a single sentence of Carter’s since it took her so long to walk across the room. She moved like a whisper through the party and never brushed shoulders with a single guest. Severus became more curious of her disease, probably an affliction due to her magical family. He suspected Pureblood lineage and the illnesses that came with interbreeding. It was a scene across the room that dragged him out of his puzzle. Engaging Hermione in conversation was a very old man whose nose was so hooked it made Severus' look merely long. His hair was tufts on the side and top of his head in frazzled white, and the man also seemed to be trying to use his fingers to make measurements on Hermione's forehead. She pulled back imperceptibly as the old hands hovered over her skin.

Lady McCray zeroed in on the man and Hermione, and she cleared her throat as she guided Severus toward the pair. Hermione's face melted from discomfort to relief, then to stone upon seeing Severus and Lady McCray. Severus rolled his eyebrow as if to challenge her sour expression and it faded away behind a more respectful mask. Severus didn't care that Hermione didn't like it, she needed to be more considerate! What could possibly be so wrong right now? Shouldn't Hermione, bookworm and know-it-all of the century, be very interested to hear whatever this man had to say? He was probably a fairly distinguished member of history if he'd been invited alongside Nichola Tesla and Howard Carter.

"Mr. Strong, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Josiah Nott," Lady McCray half-shouted, causing Dr. Nott to shuffle around in place to see Severus. The old man immediately squinted his wrinkled eyes up at him. Nott? So, his former Death Eater accomplice wasn’t lying; he had an American ancestor who was just as Pureblood as he claimed to be. Severus could tell Purebloods a hundred miles away by their tell-tale sneer and aloof attitude. The elderly Dr. Nott, still squinting up at Severus, craned his neck left and right. It was invasive but Severus didn’t try to stop the old man. That was only because Lady McCray didn’t try to stop him either. It was best to follow her lead, and Severus wanted to show Hermione she didn't have to be so sensitive.

"I see you're Caucasian," Dr. Nott said, lifting his hunched form to view Severus' face closer. His apathetic expression revealed mossy grey teeth as he inspected Severus. "But while your nose tells me Hebrew, your jaw hints toward more of a Scottish, no—Irish descent! An incredibly strong mixture of fortitude, but not intelligence," the aged man sighed in apparent disappointment. Oh, so that was the problem with Dr. Nott. Hermione's eyebrows pulled up as if to say 'see?'. This voice was strong and twangy of the American South, full of gravel and disdain. Beside Severus, Lady McCray sighed as if bored.

"The good doctor studies people and animals of all origins, and many of the skulls you see in my collection of both kinds are gifts from his findings. He's a...oh goodness, what is it?" Lady McCray mumbled to herself while trying to find the words.

"Phrenologist," Hermione answered in a flat tone. Lady McCray perked right back up. Severus had heard of this before, when the Dark Lord would speak on Muggle doctors weeding out their own kind by measuring their skulls.

"Yes, it was on the tip of my tongue," Lady McCray replied patiently. Having finally sensed Hermione's discomfort, Lady McCray leaned past Dr. Nott who was now taking an interest in the curvature of Hermione's nose (thankfully, just with his eyes) and patted her shoulder. "Dear, would you be so kind as to assist Tabby in setting the table for dinner?" Lady McCray hinted.

Hermione stared at Lady McCray for a brief moment before nodding with a tight jerk of her head and passing Severus in a flurry of rustling skirt movements. Before Severus could protest the nature of asking her to do chores, Lady McCray excused them from the dejected Dr. Nott who had now turned his gaze on the remnants of a mermaid skull in a jar of dense liquid. Lady McCray pulled Severus in to whisper against his ear while they passed a completely fur-faced man who was conversing with Mr. Reese jovially.

"It was the only way to get him to leave her be, I assure you," Lady McCray breathed into his ear. It sent chills through his jaw and neck. "The members of my Society are—"

"Head hunters and grave robbers?" Severus sneered in reply. Lady McCray lifted her shoulders delicately, neither unsettled or insulted.

"Passionate in their fields, but relatively harmless," Lady McCray shot back. She seemed to be untouched by his obviously spiteful tone. "You needn't worry...I wouldn't let anything happen to her. I can see she is important."

"Miss Good has effectively saved my life, and she is useful to me. Without her I would be dead in a pasture," Severus quickly cut across the next words Lady McCray was trying to say. And that was _it_. He didn't want his employer to get the wrong ideas, like Timothy. He understood it was out of the norm for a young woman to be traveling with a man, but did nobody think of anything else? Lady McCray paused on his arm while apparently trying to digest what he'd just said.

"Then I suppose I have her to thank," Lady McCray half whispering like a secret, half stating like fact. A warmth broke out under the edge of his collar again but he couldn't say why. Was it warm? What had come over him? Severus frowned down on the beguiling green eyes of Lady McCray. Yes, she was most assuredly appraising his value.

Before Severus knew it, she had unclasped his arm and raised a glass from a tray that floated along with carefully balanced glasses of wine. Lady McCray used the edge of one of her pearl rings to knock on the glass until it sang out over each of the conversations. Severus knew she was calling dinner to begin but the words were a distant blur. He had to get his head on straight! The room heaved in motion as all guests made toward the grand dining room, and Severus followed suit.

Lady McCray floated into her seat with the assistance of Tabby and Mr. Reese, and she motioned for Severus to sit at her left side while Mr. Reese took her right. Hermione was already seated beside the space dedicated for Severus. In total, about seven guests of various professions and backgrounds were at the table with Severus and Hermione as the interlopers. In fact, all the gentlemen seemed to know one another at least cordially. Severus could still see the displeasure between the stiff Dr. Nott and the apathetic fur-faced man as they sat beside one another in silence. Lady McCray held up a small hand to gather everyone's attention one last time before dinner commenced.

"I'd like to thank you all for coming, and apologize that our traditional scavenger hunt is replaced this year with a more subtle dinner party instead. My most recent fracture is to thank," Lady McCray gestured to her delicately wrapped forearm with a crisp tone while the guests all made their feelings of honor aware, despite the location. "I hope you all enjoy the hearth, the food, and the comfort of my home."

The table responded well, raising their glasses high and toasted with hearty huzzah at her brief speech. Food materialized before them; Severus spied roasted hams, thick whipped potatoes, beef stroganoff, fresh warm breads, poached eggs the size of grapefruit, rich wines and even a small wooden pitcher of Butterbeer at the end of the table. Severus didn't know where to begin until he saw Hermione uneasily glancing around the feast, seemingly unsure of herself. Any lessons on etiquette she had were being tested by the unfamiliar environment. Not that Severus expected her to have any table manners, having seen her at least a few times carelessly shoveling food into her mouth while reading before class.

"The potatoes, and the beef stroganoff, Miss Good," Severus directed while passing her his plate.

With a task at hand now, she dished the plate gently and returned it to Severus before serving herself a helping of ham and some of the side salad to start with. Adventurously, Hermione reached forward to pour herself from the wine jug, and then happily poured a glass for the man beside her who Severus recognized as Jules Verne, father of a genre of books Muggles had called science-fiction. Everyone began to eat with appreciation while discussing their topics of interest. Across the table, Howard Carter was presenting photos with a loving look in his eyes. He had to be no more than twenty-five, by the guess of it. Severus craned his neck to see the woman or child he was so fond of, and when he caught Severus looking he happily passed the photo over. Severus discovered the picture was of a plain looking grid-formation of string over a carved out ditch where wizards were using magical tools to inspect the runes on slabs.

"The ancient Egyptians called it Wasset, but now it's called Thebes," Howard Carter said with a beam of pride. "It was a grand city, just grand! I heard right that you'd be my new field competition, yes?" Carter smirked, a prideful glint in his eye that tried to subtly meet with Lady McCray. Severus remembered what it was like to be young and full of ambition while trying to impress pretty women.

"My expertise is mainly in potions, but our contract with Lady McCray is under the guise of paranormal research. You'll be alone with your tombs," Severus replied coolly.

A bold and nasal laugh came forth from Carter and he winked at Severus while pretending to wipe up his sweat. Hermione leaned over Severus' shoulder while glancing at the photograph. He tilted it a little better so she could see without having to get so close.

"You're using grid-blocking aren't you Mr. Carter? I've read—er," Hermione fumbled, then recovered while Severus was passing the photo back to Carter. "It's my understanding that excavation is a very complicated process, but making something of a chessboard on the work site will help in cataloging."

Carter seemed interested in Hermione now, his eyes trained completely on her as he lifted the photo from Severus’ fingertips. Severus felt the chill of all eyes on Hermione and not all of them were approving of her cleverness. Some like Dr. Nott were pursing their lips over their wine. He sniffed while setting his glass down and lifting his spectacles a little further on his nose to look at Hermione.

"What a very smart girl," Dr. Nott commented. "Strange, I would say, as my studies have concluded the Negro to be akin to Neanderthal in their base brain structures. Of course they walk and talk like white men, but hardly do they comprehend or compute as we do," Dr. Nott said as a few among the table let out tired groans.

"If you're going to equate intelligence to appearance, then why do I prefer the company of my pigeons to your phrenologist theories?" Tesla said, his soft voice murmuring the first words Severus had heard from him all night. His comment made laughter ring around the table as Carter shook his head disparagingly at the old man.

"Dr. Nott, I've spent plenty of time among Africans and I never met the 'negro'you go on about. And for the record I'd say they compute a hell of a lot faster than you or I do. What we require a slate and chalk for, they can do on their fingers. The Ancient Egyptian Muggles could perform eye-surgery, for God's sake!" Carter retorted. 

This was getting out of control. Hermione barely dared to move as the men began their heated debate while throwing around words such as 'polygenic origins' and 'cranial classifications', and Severus looked to Lady McCray for help, who seemed to be merely watching the events unfold like an observer.

"So she is a noble Negress, educated indeed, but that does not mean she does not require the same discipline of other Negroes of her type!" Dr. Nott was refuting as the man beside Hermione laughed as well as his half-paralyzed face would let him.

"I do dare you to say that to Alexandre Dumas when you see him next," Verne chortled, patting Hermione far too familiarly on her knee as he leaned in to whisper to her. "Don't pay any mind to him, _ma fille_ —"

"Enough," Severus snapped, finding himself unwilling to watch this circus go on any longer, if not for his own embarrassment.

He understood the word that was thrown about. It had the same power as Mudblood, which had been carved into Hermione's arm by a crazed freak of a witch. The table died down as they looked at him. Now was a very important juncture; Hermione was holding herself very still to his left. Hermione had apparently taken it to heart when Severus said that Hermione needed to try and conform to the world around them. Unfortunately, that left her incapable of defending herself. To Severus' right Lady McCray was watching him with a fixated amazement. There was no anger, or anything to indicate she was bothered by him in the slightest, or by the particular dinner conversation. _To hell with it—nobody else is going to do anything_ , Severus decided. Dr. Nott wanted to talk about something so trivial as skin? Severus sized the ancient man up with a sneer. Nott looked like a corpse with a dinner jacket on.

"Miss Good has attended Hogwarts, was the top student of her year, and has a promising future. It was her idea to begin a business venture that bridges the superstitions of Muggles and the unseen, unknowable forces behind them that only we can unravel," Severus slapped back across the table to Dr. Nott who was watching him with a curled lip of disgust. Everyone seemed to straighten in their seats at the lecture. Hermione remained staring at her plate. Was it wrong of him to defend her? At the same time, wasn't he the only one who could? It was no use turning back now, Severus knew, as Dr. Nott focused his glare on Severus now.

"It was...well, you could say we were on an assignment, when I'd been attacked and we had been thrown far from our original destination by a backfiring Apparition. Miss Good had lost her wand and was defenseless, but she saved me from a certain death _and_ a Muggle family from a rogue Boggart who had lost its temperament. Miss Good is indeed noble, but it has nothing to do with anything else but her actions." A pause seemed to hang in the air. Carter raised his glass and nodded toward Hermione with a shy little smile.

"I’ll drink to that," Carter said, and Tesla beside him took a sip as well in a gesture of solidarity. Hermione's face did not say thankful, however. Conversations split up and returned to a normal volume as the tense moment had passed. Hermione was no longer the subject of attention or scrutiny, so Lady McCray was safe to reach across the table to lay her hand atop Hermione's knuckles as they clenched her silverware.

"I usually love a good debate, but Dr. Nott is seeming more like a broken record these days," Lady McCray muttered with a woeful shake of her head. Hermione snapped back to reality and gave Lady McCray a sympathetic smile in return. It did not reach her eyes. "I don't think I'll invite him back. He used to be so clever!"

"Yes, I suppose it must be amusing to finally not be the butt of the joke in the question of blood purity," Hermione replied as she drew a painfully slow glare up and down the wrappings of Lady McCray's arm. Mr. Reese, who had been silent all night, fought not to choke on his wine. Lady McCray pulled her hand away from Hermione's skin with an even chuckle that told Severus she was at a loss for words. Hermione picked up her glass and finished it in a fell swoop. "Please excuse me," Hermione added while standing from her chair. Nobody batted an eye at her as she slipped away from the grand dining hall out into the darker parts of the home.

As much as Severus wanted to be frustrated that she'd been crude to their host he couldn't blame Hermione for being waspish. Even Lady McCray seemed more surprised than offended as Hermione made her exit. It wasn't very noble to poke at Lady McCray's infirm nature, but Severus conceded that Hermione was likely the most noble among the table for her ability to gracefully depart a bad conversation. At the head of the table, Lady McCray sipped at her wine and hungrily watched the dining room full of esteemed, well-known men so she could pretend the insult had never occurred. At one point in time, Severus might have once even awarded Hermione maybe a few House points for the clever jab and tall posture as she left the table of auspicious historical figures without another glance back to see if anyone cared.


	10. Chapter 10

One...two...three...four...turn, one, two, three, four, turn, _onetwothreefourturn_ —

Hermione let her feet move as they wished while she poured over the book in her hands, sipping at the champagne she'd snagged as she left that horrible dinner party. The trays were still floating about downstairs and when Hermione politely asked the glass would refill itself for her. She never even had to go downstairs for more. When sipping champagne turned into just gulping it, she paced the floor beside her bed as she studied everything that may be of any possible use. It helped with fighting her anger and working on the task at hand: leaving. Hermione tossed the open book back onto her bed with the others she'd snagged on her way up to her room, flicking back every few pages and drumming the tip of her borrowed wand against the back of her thigh. When she was satisfied that she understood the nature of the spell she was reading Hermione took in as deep of a breath as she could. This should tell her what was wrong with her damn Apparating, or if there was a hex she should be aware of.

" _Incantus_ _Claudere_ ," Hermione intoned while pointing her wand at her feet. The shimmery yellow spell shot forth from the tip of the wand, and the feeling of prodding fingers dragged through the bones of her feet until they climbed up her knees, spine and rib cage, and danced along her arms like electric jolts.

At long last the end of her fingertips vibrated with the hum of magic until...nothing. Hermione waited a moment before she was absolutely sure that was the end of the spell. Angrily, she flipped through the pages of the book on her bed and re-read the passage again, knowing something important was missing, just out of reach. Frustrated, Hermione slammed the cover of the book closed with little respect to the old binding and grabbed the champagne glass. She was no longer affected by the gentle burn of the alcohol and took a huge gulp before grumbling for more. Nothing came. That was when Hermione noticed the sound of downstairs revelry was now gone and now the party was over. There were no more favors to be shared.

Hermione swore and set the glass back down on the edge of the side table, or at least what she thought was the edge. The glass tumbled faster than Hermione could react and it crashed against the ground with a frightfully loud clatter. Hermione took up her wand again with a sigh to repair it. The pieces danced back together with ease, but she felt no accomplishment or joy in fixing the glass. All she did was postpone the inevitability that somebody else would break it. Hermione stared at the glass while waiting for the rage in the corners of her vision to subside. When she considered why she was angry, she saw the whole table and then Severus Snape.

But that made no sense—why was she angry at _him_? He did nothing but defend her to some of the most influential people in history; Howard Carter and Nichola Tesla would not stand with Dr. Nott about his ridiculous ideas, and these were people she admired when she was a child! So why was it that when Hermione watched the scene from within herself, she could only discover anger at Snape? Not just Snape, it was Lady McCray as well. The condescending, vile little woman! With her arms around Snape and her false sympathy it made Hermione sick to her stomach.

Actually it was the corset that was making her sick. The compression on her ribs was too much to bear. Hermione struggled with the top of the dress until the fastenings came undone in the back, but she could not reach backward to unhook the entire length. Her shoulder blades were too constricted and she was unable to reach. Hermione experimented with pulling the dress up over her head and the skirt threatened to swallow her whole. It didn't even budge at the waist. Hermione felt her breath coming in shallow and fast now. Panic was beginning to set in, claustrophobia-inducing and making time slow down. Would she be stuck in this? Could she suffocate? Hermione's nails were fumbling and dragging across the material but she could not reach the lower half of the dress. The room was starting to spin. She shouldn't have had so much champagne. Hermione tried to sit on the bed to think rationally, but the room heaved and she was left propped against the bedpost while fighting with this damn dress.

"Tabby? Tabby, can you hear me?" Hermione called out softly, trying to avoid Lady McCray from hearing her somehow. That would be too embarrassing. Was it getting tighter in the bust of the dress? Hermione could feel the drum beat of her heart in her ears. Desperate to get out of the stupid thing, Hermione lurched toward the door with a stumble and pulled it open to reveal the candle-lit hallway. " _Tabby!_ " Hermione hissed down the stairs, unable to breathe, incapable of doing anything right.

Feet rushed toward her and Hermione looked down to see the toes of the black dress shoes pointed at her. The ground that was suddenly much closer than before. When had she sat down in the threshold of her bedroom? Hermione was far more relieved but still could not breathe even as she fought to reach the last few fastenings of the dress back.

"Too...tight," Hermione gasped. The pain in her spine was incredible. Hermione hung her head she could feel her chin rest on her collarbone that was still erect under the pressure of the corset. Is this what death by constriction was like? A cool palm pushed against her forehead until her head was upright, and then she felt herself being pulled up from under her arms.

"You have to stand or you can't breathe," a deep voice of familiar annoyance muttered, heaving Hermione into a standing position. She saw the eyes that devoured light everywhere they went, then the dark curtain of hair and deep grimace. Hermione felt like grimacing, too. 

But they were moving again, Snape gripping her shoulder and steering her back at arms length into her quarters with a firm shut of the door behind him. Hermione continued to fight for air like a fish out of water as Snape looked around the room with an embarrassed glance rather than at her directly. Hermione whirled about to face away from him and mutely pointed at the fastenings of the dress. There was a hesitation that she could see in his face as she looked at him through her mirror. Was that a blush? _Oh for Merlin's sake_!

"Just do it!" Hermione whispered while crossing her arms as best as she could. She just wanted out of these horrid clothes, and she knew that breathing would be another luxury she would never take for granted, either. Snape took in a breath as if to brace himself, and while trying to modestly look away he unhooked the buttons she'd been unable to reach. With the last button undone Hermione moved to step away but found that his fingers were now seeking out the edges of the corset for the lacings. Hermione froze. Snape’ fingers were curiously poking around to figure out the structure of the piece she was wearing now, with only a chemise and bloomers between her and the corset.

Hermione knew it would be no good until she reached down the front of the dress and unlaced the satin tie at the center of her stomach, remembering faintly the steps that Tabby took to close her in this torture device. Once the blue ribbon was freed from her cinched waist, Snape began to successfully tug at the crossings of the cords until, inch by inch she could feel her chest expanding. Each breath that she took in made the room brighter and more clear. The dizzying effect of the alcohol was blessedly washed away with each new gasp of air. Snape moved quicker now as the sides of the corset relaxed under the unlacing process and with a great sigh Hermione felt the blood return to her wrinkled skin. Now Hermione could sit properly, and she did so with immense pleasure, flopping down in the edge of her bed as she used her folded arms to keep the neckline from drooping. Hermione thought the corset might have crushed her ribs. Snape stiffly turned to leave, but Hermione was not going to let that slide so easily.

"Wait a moment. I need to talk to you," Hermione warned. Snape did not face her.

"Can't it wait? I quite seriously need to tend to some business—"

"I have business with _you_ , sir," Hermione retorted with a snap. She felt bold and still angry. She _really_ shouldn’t have had so much champagne. Still, he did not move to face her. "I need you to understand a few things."

"Can it wait until you're dressed?" Snape replied in a low hush of a voice. Hermione felt her face flare briefly until she realized exactly what this looked like. "I'll give you ten minutes."

"Okay," Hermione was able to say as Snape whisked himself from the room. Her cheeks stung as she stripped herself from the dress and the corset. Hermione felt across her stomach with her fingers at the deep rivers of flesh that had been squeezed for the better part of almost three hours. Hermione couldn't imagine the damage something like that would do to the frail Lady McCray.

She dug in the wardrobe for a robe and slipped off the gloves that had been covering her arms. If the guests had seen that, would they have made comments about the scar or her skin first? Hermione snorted again at the judgmental gaze of Dr. Nott. If Dr. Nott was so interested in faces, maybe he should be more aware of where he shoves his big nose. With the release of the comb from her hair, the bun came apart at the base of her neck and her bushy hair flared out once more across her shoulders as the silk flowers fell to the ground. She made quick time of dressing in some plain night-dress and her discarded robe she found shortly thereafter. As she sat between the books on her bed, ten minutes past the hour, a gentle knock alerted her to the door.

When she admitted Snape, his eyes were back to their typical bored disinterest. Behind them was an uncertain and anxious tension. Hermione tried not to care. He was still dressed in the full regalia of the party; pressed shirt, a necktie, and his modified robes as a jacket. At least Snape looked like he belonged. Belonging in the magical world was something Hermione had envied since she was a child, and here he was in the perfect era for such an uptight personality, among people just as snotty as him. And after all that talk about giving up his soul to Voldemort, he still wanted to look like the good guy and defend her? Hermione sat on the bed while Snape stood near to the door as if ready to flee. Hermione wished she'd written a list of her grievances.

"How was the party?" Hermione started. Snape rolled his eyes. "And that's not a smart remark—"

"Then what is it you want?" Snape cut through. Hermione felt her hands roll into clenched fists at her sides.

"You didn't have to tell them about me. In fact, it would have been better if you'd said nothing at all. I know perfectly well that things are different here, and you know it, too. I appreciate what you tried to do—but in front of them we can’t be ourselves," Hermione said with as much of an understanding tone as she could. Snape's shoulders hitched as if to shrug but wouldn't fully commit.

"And simply feast while you're obviously uncomfortable? Surely you don't take me to be so calloused," Snape scoffed in reply.

A hot wave of anger rolled through Hermione. The temptation to tell him that he could stop pretending to care because of his falling out with Lily was far too easy of a target. And she knew, mildly inebriated as she was, that if she opened that box there would be no closing it. Instead, she made it personal between her and Snape. That was the only way to level with him and prevent him from ducking out of the conversation. Hermione had realized that on the Muggle farm. She had to bring him down to her level to fight, but Hermione knew she couldn't be above trickery to win.

"I think you played your role as a Death Eater a little too seriously for you to be making amends at dinner tables. You've never cared for people like me. Why should I be any different?"

***

_But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood._

Lily had been right, as usual. He had said those things so long ago. Severus then allowed himself to slip into a dark world and truly believe, because of his insecurities, that his Dark magic made him better than his bullies. Severus lost his only friend in the process, too. And now, shrouded in a haze that was as dark as anything he'd ever seen, Hermione stared at him as if challenging to say something to defend himself. His words rang around his ears, and so did hers.

Severus went to say something and then found himself at a pause as if unable to decide what would be fair to reply. Yes he did those things, but not to all Muggleborns? Was it a lie that he hated them, wasn't he just playing the part? Or had he forgotten who he was in the acts he performed—a Half-Blood, like Voldemort himself? No. Severus could see the puckered scar on Hermione's left forearm, a similar spot to where his Dark Mark was. He hadn't forgotten where he'd come from; not when Dumbledore died and not when the Muggle-Studies professor Charity Burbage called him a friend before her death.

Hermione looked like she was falling apart. Her hair was askew, and of course her eyes were glassy with latent exhaustion. Of course, the fragrance of champagne in the room might have something to do with that, too. She was just waiting for whatever Severus had to say. It was too late for amends? Severus didn't know what to think. But she looked him in the eye, and Severus found something like a begrudging respect in the back of his mind. There was a chance the war was really over—did he really have to spend so much energy being aloof to hide his intentions? Neither Dumbledore or Voldemort could see him here. Knowing that gave Severus a fleeting sense of calm.

“Everyone makes choices they don't see the consequence in," Severus offered, as if that made a difference, as if that erased the mark on his arm or on hers.

"Just because we're at a disadvantage now doesn't mean we can't behave like we have the upper hand," Hermione shot back irritably. "If things are so different here then maybe it's time we really used our resources so we can find out who's looking for us and go home. Why are we wasting time?"

Why was the answer, not the question. Secretly, he had been asking the taboo during the last few days; why return? Severus did not believe there would ever be a time when one of them was not at the disadvantage in some way. Here Hermione is ostrichsized by her skin, and Severus was finally liberated of all stigma. Things are different where they were from. He was a Death Eater, he killed Albus Dumbledore, and he faced Azkaban upon returning. He did not wish to share his entirely selfish reasons with Hermione. It would only serve to work against them. It was not her burden to bear Severus’ shame, though in truth, he also didn't know why he cared. Perhaps it was seeing the world in reverse for the first time—but maybe, it was something to do with Hermione’s newfound loyalty to him when things got difficult.

Hermione jumped from the loft when he commanded, trusting that he’d use a spell on her to prevent injury rather than shield himself. She walked alone as bait against an unknown assailant with no wand, nothing to defend herself, and no guarantee that he wouldn’t slip away. He’d done it before to others. Most glaringly she’d taken the precious, life-saving time to come to the Shrieking Shack and essentially saved Severus from bleeding out. What did Severus have to show for it? Or was it just his nature to take from people? He meant it in the garden when he said he understood that they needed to work together more. Not him using Hermione, really pooling their talents for the greatest outcome.

It had been so long since he’d been his own master and he could make choices without considering the other side, the enemy, his double-life. In comparison, Hermione had only been through half of what Severus has—and the selfishness never became a lifestyle for her. Right now, Severus just had a frightened young woman in front of him who had come from a battle that neither of them knew the resolution to. And if he was correct, Voldemort was still alive and the wizarding world was stuck in an ignorant, mortal danger while they were being hunted for some unknown reason, a century in the past. But they would figure out the future another day.

"Granger, I assure you I will do everything in my power to return you to Hogwarts,” Severus swore. “I would perform a Vow, but we’re short a witness,” Severus excused. To his surprise, she laughed.

“Yeah, I don’t think Tabby would be up for that job,” Hermione sighed through a chuckle. It was refreshing for something to not be so serious even if just for a moment. “Please tell me Lady McCray’s friend or whatever had some information on the wizard,” Hermione asked. Like a match being blown out, the brief levity in the room was gone.

Severus whipped his wand at a side-chair, pulling it closer to himself rather than join Hermione on the bed. She was still...well, no she wasn’t a student anymore, but he had a hard time seeing her as an adult person outside of the school, and he didn’t feel the need to get that close to a drunk former-student.

“You won’t be able to guess which of Lady McCray's little puppets was in the Cotswolds as well. The man with the hair all over his face is named Fedor Jeftichew,” Severus began. “He’s a circus performer, and if you didn’t already guess, an accomplished Animagus,” Severus revealed with an uptick of his brows. Hermione stared at Severus for a moment longer.

“I-I thought that was a condition,” Hermione half-gasped, her eyes going wide. Severus felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. In fairness, he didn’t explain fully, so he couldn’t anticipate Hermione understanding.

“It is, but he’s also an Animagus. They call him Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Man. He works in a sort of part-time agreement as a surveyor for Lady McCray, and he’s the first person Lady McCray summons when she wants an area investigated before she sends Reese in.”

“What does that have to do with the person following us?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest before wincing as she slowly dropped them.

Severus was going to have to speak to the house-elf about the corset and how Hermione was not used to them. He needed Hermione ready at any moment. She could not be falling over in doorways like a weak, wilting flower. Their ability to defend themselves against an attack could rely on it and Severus could not be depended to show up whenever she called out for help. She was lucky Severus had heard her at all on his way up the stairs.

“The events around the Muggle family were already ongoing before we arrived. How long ago had the boy said the father was missing?” Severus quizzed, hoping to knock Hermione free of the champagne stupor with some exercises.

“Five—no, six days before we showed up,” Hermione recalled. “Are you suggesting the other wizard arrived before us?”

“It seems you were correct in your assumption the Boggart had been instigated on the family, probably magically so by the wizard in question. A _very_ lucky guess,” Severus cautioned when Hermione’s eyes lit with pride.

Jeftichew had explained it as such. He’d done some snooping in his Animagus form about five years back when he heard word that the countryside was being plagued by a monster in a particular field, which was already suspected by the nearby magical community to be a Boggart. Of course, being a small hazard to any wizard they had left it alone rather than try to relocate it. As long as no Muggles were in danger it was no real threat. Lady McCray had ordered Jeftichew to keep a close eye on the creature, and last week was the first missing persons in the area. Jeftichew went searching but never found the Boggart in question. All he found was a figure walking through the marshes that escaped into a nearby town when Jeftichew spotted him. Jeftichew had been summoned back, and there was no sign of the wizard by the time he returned to scout the area.

The wizard had been sent to the past before Hermione and Severus, somehow. But there was no sign of Madam Pomfrey in the mix. She must have just escaped the spell by Apparating first, which set off the events. Not that time-travel magic was particularly reliable or even remotely easy to understand. This was only Severus’ working theory, which he explained in full detail to Hermione as she slowly began to sober before his eyes.

“Are you sure the people in the country didn’t mistake Jeftichew for...you know, the monster?” Hermione tried to offer while hedging around the suggestion as kindly as she could.

“I already said he was in his Animagus form when he was doing his investigations. Nobody noticed him,” Severus reminded. Hermione sucked in her lips.

“Nobody noticed a strange dog running around where they think a monster is?” Hermione spelled out. _Wrong move_ , Severus thought to himself as he sat back in the small chair.

“I never said it was a dog. His Animagus form is a grey dove, the least conspicuous bird ever known,” Severus drawled back out for her. Hermione’s jaw fell open again as she realized her mistake. “What an incredibly bigoted thing to say, Miss Granger,” Severus pushed further, glad that in the dim of Hermione’s bedroom that she couldn’t see the rare ghost of a smile at her expense.

Hermione back-peddled while insisting that she meant something else or that she misheard him. From outside, the light of the streetlamp was the only thing illuminating her street-facing room, along with a few stubby candles on her bedside table. Strewn about the place were books and pages of what appeared to be Hermione’s own notes. Some of them had even fallen to the floor. Severus wanted to frown, tell her to neaten up the borrowed books, but as he glanced around he couldn't find any clear space where Hermione could put the books. Severus was curious and meant to ask if Hermione had found anything of use when he heard a faint start of what either was a cough or a sniffle. Severus’ eyes met Hermione’s in the low light of the room as she watched him. Her arms had returned to folded, but there was no more pain to her...just an uneasy sort of posture. She looked ready to leap off the bed, to run the other direction.

“Do you ever have a hard time sleeping?” Hermione ventured, her voice sounding far away. Severus could have heard a pin drop across the room. “Just in general, of course.”

Oh. These sorts of questions? Severus, being a teacher, was used to being asked things like how a student should format an essay or other stupid questions. This was completely out of his element. Severus was reminded that just because she’d only spent half the time fighting than he had, it didn’t make the things Hermione had seen any less painful. She’d spent a full year dodging Death Eaters and various magical treacheries as well. Hermione had left the remnants of a battlefield to collect his ‘dead’ body only a week ago, by their time.

“Are you having a difficult time falling asleep? It’s natural, in strange places,” Severus replied, unable to express that yes, he knew _exactly_ what she meant. Hermione straightened and tried to roll back her shoulders.

“Just lately, I suppose. For a few nights,” Hermione pushed a little further.

Severus didn’t feel ready to tackle this issue with her—there were more capable people than him when it came to emotions. But it seemed like she was asking for his permission to feel these things. He waited, not exactly hoping for an explanation. Finally as she dropped her eyes to the space between them as if it would swallow her whole, Hermione took in a deep breath.

“I keep feeling on edge. I’ll be lying there for hours, and I’m just waiting for something to happen. And I keep hearing—” Hermione paused, taking inventory of her surroundings for a moment before finally resting her eyes again on Severus. In the center of her gaze was abject disappointment to see him sitting across from her. “I suppose it’ll just go away in time. Sorry to bother you,” Hermione replied as if she could not bear to see him.

Severus didn’t have the heart to tell her it doesn’t just go away and that there may be more nights of waiting than not. Even so, Hermione looked up at him, her distance visible in her eyes. Severus could tell she was tired, honestly and really drained. He sensed she wanted to be alone so he permitted himself to leave by crisply standing to break the tension.

“I’m sure everything will resolve itself. Be ready tomorrow by nine. We've been given a job, and lateness will not do,” Severus instructed. That was about as personal as it got with him. Hermione nodded but did not bid him a good night or anything as awkward as all that. Severus was glad for that. It was far better that way. The sooner they got back to their time, the sooner he could untangle himself from Hermione Granger and her pesky emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember watching Pirates of the Caribbean when I was a kid and thinking Elizabeth Swan was being awfully dramatic about wearing a corset until I got stuck in one during a Renaissance Faire and had to get a stranger to help me :) :) :) shows what I know


	11. Chapter 11

By seven sharp, Severus was good and angry. In the cauldron he’d been provided by Lady McCray sat his potion to weed out any dark forces, and all he saw was milky white. It was so pure he thought it might actually just be milk—had that blasted house-elf changed out his potion? But he could smell it, a pure clean smell like fresh linen, and he knew that his work hadn’t been removed. This did not clear Lady McCray of his misgivings. Just because she didn’t perform magic didn’t mean she didn’t still deal in it. And too many wheels were spinning while Lady McCray remained pulling the strings. Typically, that was a sign of somebody with ulterior motives. He could most certainly vouch for that.

Still, he had signed a contract. During the party Lady McCray had provided Severus with his first assignment; a woman apparently dealing with a recurring flame problem. It seemed easy enough. Severus would discover what curse was afflicting the woman, wipe away her memory of magic, and return with either a field report or an object that was causing the curse. When Severus asked what made Lady McCray consider that an object was the source of the curse, Lady McCray merely smiled and said once was coincidence, twice was magical, and three times was intentional. It was some inside joke of hers that made a few of the men in her Society chuckle at the mention of this clever little rule.

Severus ate his breakfast in his room, excusing himself from the company of Lady McCray for one day at the very least. Tabby was very obliging in bringing up fresh tea and a breakfast pastry at his request. The tea was less than satisfactory, being cold and bitter, not completely unlike the sensation of a Polyjuice Potion, which always disgusted him. He didn't choose to finish the tea. Neither he or Hermione seemed very comforted by their new patron in the slightest and he didn’t feel it necessary to constantly be at the heel of his new employer. He’d see Lady McCray when he delivered his field report. That was more what he was used to, between Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort.

At eight a quick rap on his door caused his hand to twitch while he was working out possible solutions to their dilemma on a pad of paper. He drew a thick line over his mistake before calling out for somebody to enter. Deja vu struck him and he thought back to the very rare occasion anybody ever knocked on his office door at Hogwarts. Typically, it was a fellow professor. Students hardly ever came by to see him unless they’d been given detentions.

He would have rather seen McGonagall in his doorway with a team of Aurors to apprehend him rather than Hermione in trousers, yet _again_. She apparently wanted to be discovered as an outsider. Her hair was pinned back behind her ears and her face was freshly washed. It looked like she’d even put some ointment on a few of the more serious burns and scratches on her face and neck that had been healing over the course of the week. Severus' foul mood brought a scowl to his face as Hermione stood waiting for him to rise from his desk.

“I would say I hope you have a very good reason for wearing that, but I’m too busy for a long-winded excuse. Change into something presentable,” Severus dismissed. Hermione did not move from the doorway but instead folded her arms with the audacity to lean against the open portal.

“Loose clothes aren’t any good when dealing with fire creatures,” Hermione began. It was that know-it-all voice again, and Severus wished he’d told her to be ready by ten instead, as he planned to leave within the next fifteen minutes anyway. He was already getting a headache from her.

“Walking around London in trousers isn’t any good in dealing with Muggles in 1888. _Go_ ,” Severus demanded. Hermione stuck up her nose a little higher as if she had the right to look down on him. It infuriated Severus, and it made him stand so that she could not. Still, that haughty expression held true even when he stood a full head taller than her. “I’m not asking.”

All at once, the disdain seemed to leave her face. Hermione’s eyes shifted to confused as she dropped her arms from her chest and retreated from the door. After she was gone, the frustration that had been building up inside Severus just exited. Maybe he really should just ask her to stay here and keep working out how to get home. She had to come up with something from all those scribbles he'd seen across every scrap of paper that littered her bedroom. But she returned, too swiftly for Severus to make up his mind, and in the proper attire he’d insisted on. It felt redundant that he had to remind Hermione that she wasn’t in in 1998 anymore! She should be more considerate of that, Severus thought to himself. Hermione's hands flicked over the front of the skirt to smooth it out over her toes. On her shoulder was what Severus recognized as a carpetbag of a worn green-brown floral pattern, and long straps good for hitching up onto a shoulder.

“Sorry, ready,” Hermione offered, neither too bright or too sour. Severus didn’t find himself curious about her sudden change in mood or even his own. If she wanted to behave accordingly he’d include her on his trips, but he would not be treated like anything was up for debate.

“Be sure to remember it in the future,” Severus said to end the discussion, exiting his living quarters after shrugging on his coat. In his breast pocket was the address of the woman they meant to see, given to him by Lady McCray last night at the party along with a small purse of money. As he fixed his collar and sleeves Severus took in the hem of of his converted robes one more time in a hallway mirror. Tabby had adjusted the uneven edges before the dinner, thankfully. It was going to suffice for the time being.

Hermione didn’t say another word but patted the space beneath her armpit. When she stopped Hermione opened her bolero jacket to show him she’d fashioned a wand holster for easy drawing, as an explanation. Sure enough the wand that Lady McCray loaned her was neatly tucked under her arm. It was a practical solution for the problem of where to stow a wand in a skirt. Silently, Severus was glad he had the best student in Hogwarts here. She would be of some use after all—as long as she kept up and listened to him. Severus and Hermione descended the stairs, both looking around before just making their presence known. Lady McCray wasn’t in the foyer when they reached the bottom, and when they both shared a look, it was like a muted breath of relief. However, Mr. Reese was still in the house. Severus suspected that he lived in the home as well.

“Ah, Miss Good and Mr. Strong,” Mr. Reese smiled as if happy to see them. The guarded way his eyes flickered between them told Severus the truth. “Out and about, are we?”

“Lady McCray’s sent us for our first job. Has she mentioned if she’s found a lead either on our pursuer or our means back to our own time?” Severus nosed. Mr. Reese looked uncomfortable now.

“Lady McCray...well, in the night she suffered another fracture,” Mr. Reese explained. Severus felt his heart kick, mostly because he was worried about what that meant for his employment. “She’s been transferred to St. Mungos as part of an experimental treatment for fortifying bones,” Mr. Reese said, sounding hopeful. “In any event Lady McCray will be indisposed for a few days. I can say she’s no slacker! She’ll be on the case even as she’s in hospital,” Mr. Reese concluded in his apologetic way.

“Why were we not informed? When did this happen?” Severus asked before he could stop.

Hermione’s head tilted toward him from the corner of his vision and a faint prickle of annoyance broke out across his forehead. _Of course I’m going to ask. She just disappears on the first day of our assignment?_ Severus wanted to defend himself. From the other room, there was a faint gasp. Tabby poked her head around the corner with the most disapproving glare at Severus that he’d ever seen from a house-elf, besides Kreacher, of course. Kreacher always hated Severus despite his service to Voldemort because in the end Severus was a Half-Blood.

“Tabby will not hear guests breaking the privacy of Lady McCray! Impolite, it is!” Tabby commanded sharply. Severus leaned back as if shoved by an invisible wall of her fury, and Hermione jumped in to take over. A distant memory of Hermione with some S.P.E.W. pin popped up. Wasn’t she part of some club? Something to do with the house-elves?

“No, we don’t mean that, Tabby! Obviously we care about Lady McCray,” Hermione soothed. “We’re sorry. We meant no rudeness. Perhaps, if we’re not busy, we’ll visit Lady McCray in hospital,” Hermione continued. Now it was Severus’ turn to try and gauge Hermione’s meaning, but as soon as the words were out, Tabby’s wrinkly little face relaxed.

“Tabby is in charge of the house while Lady McCray is in hospital. Will not hear rudeness,” Tabby warned once more though a little softer. She snapped away, presumably to dust one of the hundreds of objects in Lady McCray’s collection.

Mr. Reese shrugged as if that was the end of it. Hermione took the lead by brushing by Severus and walked to the door where it seemed they were all headed. She held the door for a bemused Mr. Reese, but when Severus passed by she rolled her eyes, somewhat like she was letting him in on a joke. Thank Merlin Hermione wasn’t serious about visiting Lady McCray. Mr. Reese bid the pair goodbye as he turned right, and Severus marched onward down the left. Hermione hitched the bag up on her shoulder a little higher while following him on his right. Severus fished the address from his pocket along with directions. Typically it would be as easy as Apparating, but they knew that wasn’t possible any longer. Severus attempted it for himself last night after returning to his own room, finding himself no such luck. Muggle transport would have to suffice.

“Our first order of business is an interview,” Severus sighed. He hated these. If only he could have just borrowed some Veritaserum. “A seamstress on the south edge of town is finding herself and her home constantly suffering from fires. In Victorian England, I can imagine the source is completely banal,” Severus snorted, hailing a cab. A few passed him until one finally stopped and he was able to give the carriage driver directions.

Once they were rolling down the way, Hermione dug around in her carpet bag for a moment before producing a notepad, a golf pencil, and began to scribble down more information. Not this again? Severus wanted to tell Hermione to stop, but the way she hunched over the paper while writing meant she was probably focused and wouldn’t be bothering him—

“We should count out latent magical ability, unless she has children. Given that she’s a seamstress I can also say that during this time that piles of clothes are generally more prone to lighting, due to lamps. I’m sure you’ve considered this as well...” Hermione said, tapping the butt of the pencil against the notepad's edges.

“You should take more care to hear what I say; I said _she’s_ been experiencing fires,” Severus interjected before her stream of thought picked back up. Hermione frowned at the paper before her head snapped up, dangerously quick in realization.

“Oh...really,” Hermione said, her eyes dropping down to the paper in front of her. “Is it serious?”

“I don’t know, Good. We’ll discover it when we get where we’re going,” Severus dismissed. Was she always like a student even outside of the classroom? Hermione chewed at her lip while digging around in the carpetbag. After a moment, she reached in even further, up to her shoulder in the bag that was maybe only a foot deep on the outside. Hermione pulled out a book and began rapidly flipping through it while carrying the pencil between her teeth. 

Severus tried to pretend like he wasn’t watching her process. She didn’t seem the least bit put off by his flippancy as she scribbled her notes. He looked out the window over Hermione’s shoulder while the carriage rattled through the neighborhood, out of the obviously wealthier areas and into the rest of London. After a little while the buildings started to cram together for space. They eventually just shared one continuous front while doors marked the individual homes. Windows got smaller and smaller, while the bricks became one drab blur. Children played in the streets here while adults traveled mostly on foot to their destinations. Eventually, Severus and Hermione occupied the only carriage around. The cab driver stopped in front of a door, Number 58, and the pair departed on their first official paranormal investigation. What an absolute load of rubbish. The outside of the apartment seemed plain enough until Severus caught sight of the windows. They were completely smeared in dark ash, like the inside of a glass lantern that hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

To be fair, Severus wondered when the last time any of the windows around here were cleaned. It was a blatantly poor part of the strip. Having grown up in poverty, Severus tried to forget these aware nuances and briskly approached the door to knock. At the third rap of his knuckles Severus was replied to with the door being wrenched open. On the other side, a young woman with blotchy pink skin took in the sight of Severus, then Hermione, and stiffened to see strangers on her darkened doorstep.

“If you’re from the factory, we’re not goin’ back,” the woman snapped through a thick northern accent. “If you’re here to collect bills, give me your card and I’ll write to your offices about payment.” Severus wanted to sneak a peek over her shoulder, but knew that wasn’t going to be the key to getting inside. Severus drew himself up a little more self-importantly as the young woman watched him with suspicion.

“We’re not from the factory. My name is Severus Strong, and this is my assistant Henrietta Good. We are here to assist you in your...flaming problem. May we come in?” Severus started, taking great lengths to come across as amicable.

Severus, seeing no immediate damage to the young woman in front of him, wondered how many false paranormal leads Lady McCray sent her ‘society’ to investigate. In an instant the woman looked about to burst with tears at the mention. Her face crumbled from a firm mask into a mess. Severus had reached his quota of emotional women, and as soon as she released her death-grip on the door he stormed in.

The smell assaulted him. It was a hot breeze, burnt hair, and ashy particles that tickled his nose. Even Hermione bravely tried to blink past the acrid stench. In the small flat, it seemed everything was slightly charred to some extent, and burnt holes marked all the furniture. Nothing had escaped without any damage. Upon further remarking even the young woman who opened the door was beleaguered with scorch marks peppered across the hem of her skirt.

Although the house was in shambles currently, Severus could see it was once beautiful. Embroidery and fine needlework was visible on many of the surfaces, though some pieces were marred by fire damage, and a project that once hung on a dress frame was reduced to scraps with burnt edges. The woman who opened the door had impeccable violets, roses, and daisies sewn into the ties of her apron. Or rather, the pieces of her apron that remained.

“She’s in there,” the young woman, maybe no older than twenty, sighed with a point to a room with a cracked door. Severus turned back to her.

“You’re not the afflicted, Miss...?”

The woman snorted, rubbing her soot-coated hands on her apron. She sat in one of the kitchen chairs after she’d closely inspected it for something. Her hair was frizzy and falling apart from a braid, and she looked like she hadn’t slept in a few days. The ash had even reached the lobes of her ears.

“Iona Lithgow. We’re _both_ afflicted. She’s just...worse,” the woman grumbled. “Me and me mam work at a factory, makin’ clothes and the like. Few days ago she comes home from the factory and goes to bed, wakes up with the bed ablaze. Thought she’d died and gone to Hell,” Iona explained.

Iona's tale had reminded herself to perform a chore, and she stood and grabbed a bucket from beside the cracked door. Iona went outside for a brief time without another word to either Severus or Hermione. While Severus and Hermione both looked closer at the fire damage, Hermione jotted a few notes into her pad while Severus swept the area with a quick spin of his wand.

“There’s no common origin. You’ll have a fire right here, and then it just jumps to a new starting point, half a foot away,” Hermione said in a soft voice. Severus nodded in agreement to her observation while witnessing a random pattern of burns in the remnants of their curtains.

“No curses or I can detect spells, either. Keep your eyes on the ground,” Severus murmured. Hermione picked up her skirt ever so slightly as if he'd said to be wary of mice.

Iona returned with a full bucket of fresh milk and a grim expression. She silently jerked her head to summon Hermione and Severus to follow her to the ajar door. The smell of fire got stronger the closer they got, each step somehow wafting it up to their noses while they passed through the smoked home.

On the other side of the door was a mostly burnt bed, the blankets and mattress pad spotted in tiny black marks and rings where fire had eaten away cloth. In the bed lay an older version of Iona with grey hair and completely covered in soot. Each of her hands was submerged in bowls of milk that were peppered with ash. Severus watched as the bowls of milk smoked through the heavily dusted air inside the bedroom. Iona's bed was no better, and Severus guessed there were upwards of a dozen individual scorch marks that he could see alone.

“Me mam, Kenna Lithgow. All the boys and girls call her Ma Kenna,” Iona said wistfully. She dutifully came to her mother’s side to change out the bowls of milk, soothing her with some words in their Gaelic language when Kenna started to rise at the sight of strangers.

“Can she tell me when this started?” Severus said, glancing about the bedroom. Hundreds of black smudges covered the walls, floor, bed, and even a few on Kenna’s arms. Half of her dress sleeves were burned away. A few blisters were visible.

Kenna explained, through her daughter’s translation, that the trouble began after a long shift at the factory earlier in the week. She and Iona returned home and went straight to sleep only to wake when the smell of burning blankets woke her. At first she thought the lantern had fallen over, but she discovered the source of the fire was her, her hands namely. When she screamed for Iona they tried to put the fire out with water, smothering it with cloth, covering her hands in flour, and finally the only thing that would stop the active burning of her hands was dunking them in milk. Not even buckets of water stopped the flame. Still, under the surface of the milk her hands were hot and the skin beneath her blisters ached.

The testimony was hard to hear. Iona cried when her mother cried, and Hermione kept her head suspiciously low while transcribing notes as fast as she could. Every once in a while, Iona and Kenna would glance around the room before explaining that sometimes, the fires just happened wherever, whenever. Both Kenna and Iona work at a factory together making clothes, but only Kenna and the house seem to light spontaneously. Severus sat through the story before asking a few of his own questions; how long had she worked there, was there anyone else in the home, had they invited anyone recently or made any enemies? Kenna had been at the factory for many years after the death of her husband, and her three adult boy children were still living in Scotland. Iona was her only daughter, and she had stayed by her mother's side when they moved to England for work.

“I’d like to conduct a search of the house,” Severus informed, standing once his line of questions was done. “Perhaps there is something here causing it.”

At this, Kenna seemed to become awfully quiet. Severus had an idea as to why. The stove tucked into the corner of the room was going to be the start, along with the warm hearth in the living room. Kenna whispered something to Iona once and then again a second time. Both times, Iona was hesitant to translate. Her eyes darted between Hermione and Severus.

“Are you from the factory?” Iona asked a second time. Severus took this as a sign.

“Why? Should we be?” Severus retorted. Kenna’s lips puckered. “Miss Good, inspect the fireplace in the front room,” Severus directed.

Hermione remained in her seat for only a moment longer before realizing he was talking to her, and she rushed to shove her notes into the bottom of her bag. Iona stood but Severus was quicker. He blocked Iona’s path out into the living room as the newly quiet pair became more tense.

“Sir, you can’t tell—” Iona pleaded. “Me mam, she’ll be in it with them. They’re not...kind employment,” she muttered under her breath. Kenna said something that Severus couldn’t understand, and Iona seemed to hush her.

“We’re paranormal investigators, Miss Lithgow. I can guarantee that I’m not interested in your employment situation,” Severus assured while trying to keep Iona from moving past him. She kept leaning each way on her feet as if trying to find an opening. _Hurry up!_ Severus willed Hermione.

After too long of a pause, Severus thought he heard knocking. After a moment he realized it was rapid stomping and a few swear words mixed in with a spell being cast from the main room of the home. Severus rounded out of the bedroom and followed Hermione into the living room with Iona hot on his trail, still begging his silence. Hermione was kicking out the embers that had been feeding on her skirt in a half-dozen spots while her wand was pointed into the blaze of the fire.

Where it had been a faint fire earlier it was now roaring and spitting sparks of fire. But it wasn’t just the fire itself, it was the large snake under the logs that had reared back. Its ashy grey body cracked and exposed the orange-red glow of embers inside the snake. Hermione had contained it within a Freezing Spell where without heat, it was slowly fading into dust. The Ashwinder, as Severus recognized it, dissipated into the rest of the ashes around the grate of the hearth. From what Severus knew of them there would most assuredly be eggs in the center of the hot coals. It was just a matter of finding out if there were any more hidden about the house. That would explain the random flames appearing anywhere; Ashwinders would sometimes move to find new places to lay eggs, leaving a long trail of burning ash or fire in their wake.

“ _Glacius_ ,” Severus cast while watching as magical ice formed over the hot coals. In the center beneath the smoking logs were three Ashwinder eggs that could have been easily mistaken for large embers, tossed out in preparation for tomorrow’s fire when the ash got too high. 

Deftly, Hermione reached in with her fingers and stored them in the confines of her carpet bag with an angry toss. Severus’ eyes nearly popped out of his face. “Don’t break the ice!” he snapped, more than half-surprised she just reached in there with her bare hands. They could have still been hot, or the ice could have chapped her fingers as well, but she just glared at the eggs mockingly.

“I should break these eggs,” Hermione shot back while looking at her clothes once more. Coating her skirt were irregular holes, and they’d even reached the edge of her bolero sleeves with small black scorch marks. “I look like a colander.”

“A what?” Severus asked irritably. Hermione closed the bag firmly and sighed.

“Metal thingy you wash your vegetables in, it’s got holes...never mind. Iona, did your mother get these from the factory?” Hermione asked, hefting the bag up on her shoulder. Iona fiddled with the end of her damaged apron and sighed. She finally confirmed it with a small nod, and Hermione threw her hands up. “Was that really so hard? Are there any more in the house?”

“Maybe in the stove in her room,” Iona replied, miffed and frightened at the same time. “Look, it’s not easy to get coal any time to make a fire! She only took coals from work, when we needed it. It's almost summer and we won't be needing as many fires. Please, don't tell the factory!”

“And the fire at work never goes out, does it?” Hermione asked. Iona nodded again, slower. “It’s called an Ashwinder. It comes from fires that...er, never gets a chance to burn out,” Hermione skipped over, rather than admit they were from magical fires. 

“But they don’t always stay in one spot,” Severus interjected. He returned to the bedroom where Kenna ducked down into the bed to make herself smaller. She seemed to understand that the game was over. Severus ignored her while taking a quick look inside the stove. Thankfully, no Ashwinders were in here any longer. The stove was completely cold. He sealed it up with a quick twist of the handle to prevent any more Ashwinders from climbing back in.

“You’ll have to look for any more eggs. Your mother’s burns should go away soon. Ashwinders can secrete a venom that relights, but it can take a few days to completely burn off. You did the right thing putting her hands in something thicker than water, but I’d add some flour to make it denser,” Severus advised, taking a sweep of his wand under the bed and in any clothes still in the room.

“What do I do if I find more eggs?” Iona asked.

“You call us,” Hermione said while pulling out another copy of the business card she’d made. “We’ll take care of it.”

Severus paused. Was that what was supposed to happen? He didn’t recall any instructions to return here for any house-calls. Lady McCray seemed like the type to care more about the magic than the people affected by it. The way Iona clutched at Hermione thankfully proved that Iona had considered herself and her mother saved. They had been struggling with the fear that all they owned would go up in flames, and then Hermione and Severus swooped in, and after an hour all their problems are solved. Severus wished it was this easy back home.

Hermione willingly embraced the woman back. Her arms wrapped all the way around Iona’s shoulders as she gave words of encouragement to find a new job, doing anything else at all except factory work, citing all the dangers women faced in such conditions. Hermione complimented her beautiful apron and asked if she did it, saying Iona should look to apprentice under a private dressmaker. She even reached back into her carpet bag and gave her a list of things Iona could find at an apothecary or drug store that would help with the burns. Iona was moved by Hermione’s encouragement and showed it with another tight embrace. Severus had forgotten that sometimes, people needed that kind of bedside manner and was pleased that Hermione was here to do that part of the job, among other parts.

“Good, we’ve got places to be. Pack up,” Severus said to break apart the women. So much emotion. Hermione turned and nodded, promising that if the Lithgows needed she’d be right back, anytime. Severus was already halfway out the door when she caught up.

“Shall we go to the factory where there’s a magical fire?”

“You’re not as clever as you think, Good. We’re going to the factory to find the culprits _supplying_ magical fire. Why would a magical place hire Muggles? There's somebody else in the mix,” Severus corrected. Since there were no carriages running down this street, he set off down the row to where Kenna Lithgow was said to work. He just hoped nobody else was taking coals for their own homes.

“You know, that was almost...” Hermione trailed off. This is her idea of fun? Severus heard her next word without needing her to pronounce it.

“Don't be absurd. There's nothing fun about this job. It's a means to an end,” Severus replied. “And next time, don’t reach in with your bare hands.”

From his right side, Severus didn’t hear her say anything, but it felt almost natural just to walk down the street in silence. It was hard not to find enjoyment in solving a problem not relating to Death Eaters or Lord Voldemort or Harry Potter. Rather than scowl, Severus just walked. Their problems and the consequences of a lifetime were a hundred years away. Here, he was just Mr. Strong and she was just Miss Good, paranormal investigators.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am so sorry I'm a day late on the update, as real life got in the way yesterday! Here is chapter twelve, belated!

Hermione made sure to walk behind Snape. It made thinking easier for her, while she took this time to become lost in her own thoughts.

This morning’s frustrations on his insistence had been washed away by their joint accomplishment, but it didn’t make things any less confusing. Snape had reacted with such hostility that she’d been thrown off guard. While it was true she’d not jumped to answer his demands, Snape had not hesitated to use his ‘authority’ over her. Wishing to prevent whatever that was from escalating into a fight, Hermione had retreated from her frozen position and quickly thrown a skirt over her trousers to appease him.

At the same time, though the both of them were in good spirits, she didn’t feel as if she had the ability to ask him what his mood was about. Severus Snape wasn’t that kind of person. He didn’t open up, and she feared asking would cause a rift between the cooperation they’d built. In fact Hermione could consider them almost a good work team. If he’d fully dedicated himself to Dumbledore’s side, everyone might have seen more of this side, and they could all have trusted him more. Hermione felt her feet skip over a loose cobblestone as her mind was filled with a face, one that was equally distant and near to them right now. Lily Potter was the reason Snape had ever gone to Dumbledore’s side in the first place. It had nothing to do with dedication, it had everything to do with Harry’s mother.

How did Snape go on, carrying this torch for Lily? Hermione knew the memories that Snape had carried with him for so long and the sordid history that went with it. Snape’s love for Lily had driven him to dealing with Dumbledore in a means to protect her, and only her. The same care did not pass to the baby Harry. These were the secrets of the adults in her life like Dumbledore and Snape, the war-ravaged and the changed. Was she going to be like that? Was the impact of the last few years of her life going to shape her muddy, uncertain future? Hermione recognized that all was not well. She’d been having trouble sleeping ever since the Forest of Dean when Ron had abandoned her and Harry. Sometimes, she would hear a sound and almost think it was a distantly-cast spell, setting her eyes to dart about. And that bloody _ringing_ was back again—

“Pay attention, Good!” Snape hissed, his fingers coming out to snap in her face. She was brought out of herself to discover they’d walked into the factory works district. Tall manufacturing buildings blotted out the sky and belched white puffs of smog. The artificial clouds blew over the hazy blue sky above them. “I’ve already asked twice.” Hermione blinked away her thoughts. Adjusting the bag on her arm, she glanced about to figure out what Snape had asked.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione excused. “I was thinking about the wizard.”

“Think about what I ask. You’ll learn far more in practical studies than in a classroom,” Snape said. “I asked how you’d determine where we would get into this factory.”

“I suppose it depends on the factory,” Hermione sighed. She was tired of the huge bag dragging her arm down, so she quietly shrunk the carpet bag into more of a side-satchel while she considered the problem. “We could pose as workers, or use a Bedazzlement Hex, or the Confundus Charm to confuse anybody asking any questions,” she tried.

“No need,” Snape said, straightening his back. “Watch closely.” With that, Snape and Hermione simply strolled up to the building they were looking for and literally just walked in. Hermione felt tricked. She’d done this before, when she pretended to be Bellatrix Lestrange to find the chalice of Helga Hufflepuff.

“That’s all fine and good, until we get stopped,” Hermione whispered as Snape held the door for her. Snape squinted at her as a way to say ‘shut up’, and they were greeted with a cleanly polished lobby where a bored looking man peered over the edge of his glasses at them. Behind a small wooden reception table, Hermione could see he was reading the paper in his lap.

“Business?” asked the man, and Snape turned the cold demeanor on full blast.

“I was told we’d be expected. I’m Vincent Crabbe, this is my assistant Daphne Greengrass?” Snape asked, his voice dripping with poorly-disguised aggravation. Hermione watched as the man in the lobby struggled to rack his brain for any information he might have heard. “I was _assured_ I’d be expected at ten, everything set up for the inspection. Is this not the case? Greengrass, fetch your notes,” Snape spat in irritation.

Hermione quickly began to dig about in her bag for any paper, the poor man half-leaped, half-fell out of his chair as he rushed to rise. In no time, he was apologizing and asking for just a moment while he collected a supervisor who should be out on the floor ‘this very moment’, preparing for their imaginary inspection. The man was gone with a bluster of wind as Snape glanced back down at Hermione. Wow, that was clean.

“We haven’t much time. Efficiency is key; where would they keep fire in a factory?” Snape asked, and Hermione felt the gears of her head turn to pull that vague bit of knowledge from the back of her awareness.

“Factories, if you need a fire— _oh_! They keep a central stove that runs through the building to heat the workers!” Hermione said, realizing that it meant either every floor held a chance for Ashwinder eggs, or they were all in the basement with the main furnace. Snape realized this too, as he nodded toward the staircases leading both up and down.

“You get upstairs and start looking. Come find me in the basement if you need me, and if anyone asks you know the story. It’ll work fine as long as you act like you own the place,” Snape imparted in one quick breath.

“How did you think I got into Bellatrix’s vault at Gringotts? By asking nicely?” Hermione replied and rushed toward the stairs. If the proverbial hourglass was going, she needed to hurry. From what she could gather about the building itself it hosted five stories and a basement. _He certainly didn’t have any problem selecting the easy job_ , Hermione scoffed to herself bitterly as she raced up the cramped stairway.

At the first floor, it was so cold Hermione was certain there was never a fire here, let alone in the upper sections of the factory. It was here that long bolts of fabric were cut and brought to the sewing crews on the floor above. A dozen men and younger boys carried swaths of fabric on rolls, folded up, or cataloged in crates. Everything from silk to tweed was kept in their respective sections.

Just as Snape said, none of the men batted an eye at her as she crossed to the center of the long room with her head high and a notepad in her grasp. Hermione opened the stove in the center and took a quick peek in. Sure enough, there was an Ashwinder egg, right in the center of the rack keeping the logs up. She drew her wand that she kept tucked in her sleeve and cast the Freezing Spell over the hot rock before dropping it into her bag.

Hermione inspected the fire. While it seemed completely ordinary, Hermione noticed the logs were untouched by the flame as if they’d just been cut. There was probably an enchantment on them to keep them going longer. Hermione didn’t blame anyone who did the spell as she felt another cold gust running down her arms. The bolero could barely keep out the chill of the factory. Wasn't it May? She jotted a quick note to look more official, even though not a soul bothered to look her way. Hermione muttered a gentle _‘Finite Incantatem’_ , and the logs began to decay in the heat of the flame. If the boss wanted the fire to last longer he needed to fix this draft. One stove down, five to go.

“Hey! What’re you messing with?” a voice barked behind her. Hermione tried not to let it show that it startled her as she raised herself up with indignation. The voice turned out to be a weathered man who looked like he could be part of a pirate crew. His hair was short cropped and he carried a wild scar over his left cheekbone, and he fist gripped a short baton. “Get yer arse back to yer station.”

“Sir, I’m Daphne Greengrass, here for— _excuse me_!” Hermione cut through herself as the man gripped her by the bicep. “I said I’m here to inspect—”

“Sure, sure, you coal-snatcher girls all the same,” the warden grumbled. There were too many eyes on her, she couldn’t hex him and escape! He was dragging Hermione forcibly toward the stairs while she fought to keep her composure and catch her breath. “Y’ll get another few logs on when ya put some work in yer day.”

His grip left no room for negotiation. Hermione shut her mouth as she was directed up the stairs another level to where the thunderous roar of a hundred circling gears and sewing needles rattled through the entire floor. It was a wonder nobody heard this outside. Mostly, it was women who were bunched over yard upon yard of fabric, manipulating it as the needles worked furiously. Overhead, a turbine with a mounted pulley was rotating the wheel that made all of the sewing machines rattle at once. If a worker wanted to stop their project, she had to pull her work from under the autonomous sharp edges and snip the loose strings with a pair of scissors at her side.

Over fifty, maybe even up to seventy women were bundled into this room. There had been a row of sewing machines packed on each side of a three-foot wide table, and close to six tables were in use. The constant whir of the machines was deafening. But the warden made no stops or accommodations, he just dragged her to the nearest open spot where a machine had been abandoned mid-task.

“Sit,” he growled, and Hermione knew better than to argue with the man carrying a weapon. She fixed herself in the seat, and though some women gave her strange looks, none of them said a word. Hermione wasn’t the only black person here, so she was happy she didn’t stand out in that way. She placed her hands on either side of the cloth in front of her and started to just move it around under the needle until the warden left her side.

A little further down the aisle sat the stove, maybe a few yards at best. She could reach it if she just had an adequate diversion. Hermione could still feel the warden’s stare as he worked up and down the rows of women to check they were working to satisfaction. Satisfaction meant quick enough, as he would bark at them to pick up the pace as he stalked the rows. All was not lost. While her hands were occupied, she tried to focus over the din to perform what only the most disciplined magical people could do: wandless magic.

After a few seconds, she could hear the rhythm of the machines around her as she kept her hands moving back and forth to create the illusion of peace. It worked well enough, and before long she was able to summon the forces to stop the turbines overhead. In a great clatter, the machines all ceased. Without the pulley they would not sew. The employers, seeking the greatest work output with modern engineering, removed the foot pedal that would typically keep these pieces running. At the same time as the sewing machines' sudden death, the women all groaned.

“Stay at yer seats!” the warden called out as a few women took this opportunity to stretch their backs. “This is not a break!”

“Mr. Charlie, can I have a smoke?” a woman asked from the far corner of the room. This brought up a smothered giggle as the warden, now known to Hermione as Mr. Charlie, beat a table end with his baton to silence them. Mr. Charlie called down the stairs for a boy to come up and have a look at the turbines, as the women flexed their tired fingers and necks.

Now or never, Hermione knew. She slunk down to the ground on her hands and knees as Mr. Charlie climbed the table a few rows over to get a closer look at the turbines. But he’d not be able to find anything as Hermione had petrified the gears in place. Only time would break the modified Full-Body Bind Jinx. With a quick glance up the row, she guessed the stove was maybe at most, four yards away. While she crawled behind the chairs of the women, many of them watched her with disdain or outright shock. Hermione didn’t know how she was supposed to go through three more floors of this stupid venture. Two yards now! She could almost feel the heat returning to her fingers—

A distant rattle, something like a last breath, echoed only for her ears. Warmth, motivation, and then finally her will was drained from her in moments. No...no, it couldn’t be, not here? Hermione didn’t want to look up and see the Dementor on the other side of the stove, hovering black tendrils of rotten cloth where legs should be, a death shroud draped over a decaying figure that floated along. The ringing in her ears was back. Another sound filled her head; the maniacal laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange as she straddled Hermione’s chest, and her own screams as the silver knife dug into the flesh of her arm.

She was too close to so many Muggles to be performing visible magic, so she did what she could and forced herself upright. Mr. Charlie spotted her sudden movement and called out for her to sit down, unaware and unseeing the monster that drifted between the women and honed in on Hermione’s fear. Hermione did what any reasonable person would do; she bolted to the staircase. Snape said he’d be in the basement, and that’s where Hermione would go to escape this vile creature.

“Oi! _Stop_! Stop there!” Mr. Charlie screamed after her as the women began to talk in awe amongst themselves while Hermione ran.

Cold sweat was running down the back of her spine almost as fast as she sprinted down the rickety steps. Eight steps into her escape Hermione slammed into an ascending figure with a weak shout of surprise. She managed a few thrown punches like a true Muggle-born before two long hands grabbed her wrists, not as painfully as Mr. Charlie had her bicep. Though she was a step above the person in front of her their faces were nearly at level. Hermione could only make out a few details like an upturned lip and dark eyes.

“Good! It’s me!” Snape hissed, throwing a look over his shoulder and hers when he heard the approaching stomp of the warden. “Control yourself!”

“T-There’s a Dem—a Dementor,” Hermione choked out. “All the workers, it’s feeding on them, and the cold...I couldn’t do magic or they’d see,” Hermione tried to form a cohesive sentence, failing herself over and over.

Hermione willed herself to get a grip, but found the ringing in her ears too oppressive. It was a hundred times louder than the sound of the sewing machines as it dragged over her nerves. Snape released her from his grasp and shouldered past her on the staircase to meet Mr. Charlie head on once the warden reached the pair, baton high.

“ _Imperius_!” Snape commanded in a quiet voice, completely catching the warden off-guard, as it were. Hermione turned about in shock and anger with his use of one of the Unforgivables on a Muggle, though Snape was already giving his instructions. “Tell every worker in this building that they’ve been dismissed for the day, and to go home immediately.”

From under Snape’s outstretched arm he used to block the thin passage, Hermione could see Mr. Charlie’s clouded eyes for a moment before he turned about-face to relay the message. That was it? Hermione wanted to ask who had been tampering with the wood in the stoves, but Snape gave her a warning glare when she tried to speak. Not a glare, more of a...once-over, as if checking her person.

“How many?”

“I only saw one,” Hermione said, listening as the monotone voice of Charlie ordered all the workers to go home for the day.

There was a pause before a rush of footsteps started toward the stairs. Snape turned around and took Hermione by the elbow to guide her down the path toward the inventory floor again. They took refuge beside a few stacked crates just left of the staircase, and Snape pushed Hermione into the singular patch of sunlight that was filtering in through an uncovered window. Even the thinnest rays of sunshine warmed her inside and out.

“It’ll follow us down here at some point looking for you, I imagine. We need these Muggles out of the way if we intend on getting rid of both the Dementor and the Ashwinders,” Snape gritted through his teeth as he watched around the corner of the crates. “And where have you been?”

“The man you Imperiused, Mr. Charlie, found me and put me to work,” Hermione replied with a dreadful urge to spit. “I wasn’t able to reach the stove in there so I didn’t see if there were any Ashwinders.”

“There will be,” Snape assured, his forehead wrinkling. The workers were filing out of the building without a second glance to them. “I eradicated quite the nest in the basement with the furnace. They’ll be practically everywhere there’s warmth, to beat out the Dementor’s chill.”

“So, the Dementor is here because of the workers, the workers are cold because of the Dementor, and the Ashwinders are everywhere because it’s cold?” Hermione reasoned.

“I see you can follow a simple chain of events, but don’t expect any points for it,” Snape scoffed. None of his usual disdain followed the insulting words. “We’ve got to make sure the Ashwinder eggs don’t come back.”

“Somebody enchanted the logs to last longer, maybe layering the Fire-Freeze charm over the wood while they cast Incendio on the coals? It’s hard to tell,” Hermione added while taking big breaths of air. “When I neutralized the spells, the logs went back to normal. I think it’s just a matter of getting past the Dementor,” Hermione said while taking a look around the edge of the stacked crates. Workers all seemed bemused, but happy to be let go for the day.

“Dementors work in groups, Gra—Good,” Snape almost stumbled, pushing Hermione back toward the sunshine as the man from the lobby and his supervisor arrived on the scene. None of the workers gave their bosses any heed while an older man, closer to fifty with a smart brown suit and crisp black tie began to berate Mr. Charlie for letting the workers go. “Where there is one, there is bound to be more. Suffering begets suffering,” Snape answered.

Hermione felt the walls close in a little more. What now? The bosses would see them, and they’d have to explain themselves more. How could they possibly get the answers they needed from these Muggles without giving themselves away? Moreso, how would they wrangle a Dementor out of this factory unseens? Hermione knew Snape was good, but not that good.

“I can handle the man in the suit; I need you to get to the third floor and ward off the Dementor, or it’ll find its brood. I’ll be right behind you once I’ve dealt with them. Can you do it?” Snape asked, whirling to face her. Behind the crates he was as close as he’d been on the staircase. In the light, Hermione could see that his eyes were in fact two shades of dark, an outer ring of pure black and a slate-grey iris that circled his pupil. His eyes were demanding and expecting the world from Hermione. A Patronus? When was the last time she did that? Had to have been so long ago...before the Malfoy Manor.

“I-I couldn’t, I don’t think I can cast a Patronus—”

“Don’t think, you have to react!”

“What if I can’t find a happy memory?” Hermione shot back while her voice hitched a little as the ringing in her ears started up. Snape’s face was stone as he looked down on her, his face somewhere between right next to hers and a million miles away.

“Then project what you have to look forward to,” Snape whispered as the footsteps of the workers began to die down, and the sound of the boss screaming at Mr. Charlie rose up. “Picture where you want to be.”

With that, Snape was gone from the space. He’d turned around and taken all the air with him as he rounded the corner of the crates and practically charged at the boss. He began declaring himself with the Department of Safety and Protection of Essential Workplaces and that the building should be condemned. All his wrath was directed at the boss who said he’d never heard of such a department and Snape blew up, declaring Mr. Charlie the only competent man there who let the workers go before the building came crashing down on them! Hermione knew this was her cue as the last few workers from the fifth floor were making their way into the lobby, so she snuck out from behind the crates, then up the staircase while Snape said all their troubles were starting in the boiler room and that the men should follow him immediately. Hermione had never been more impressed by a bad attitude in her life.

As she rounded up the staircase she could feel the chill of the air waft around the threshold. Across the room, the Dementor was turning its eyeless head left and right to seek another target. Hermione ducked herself into a low crouch as she tip-toed up to the stove. She knew Snape had told her to dispel the Dementor, but with her ears still ringing, Hermione didn’t want to hear the hollow cackle of Bellatrix again. Hermione opened the stove door with a rusty-sounding squeal, knowing she’d given her location. The rattling breath across the room picked up as Hermione fought to keep her mind on her task. Inside the stove was a mess of eggs, close to a dozen. They probably propagated here to keep warm with the Dementor hanging about. Hermione shoved the end of her wand almost into the coals as she cast a quick freeze over the coals. The room seemed to grow colder by the second.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Hermione urged the ice, daring to peek over the stove. The Dementor had spotted her and was slowly stalking down the aisle to face her. Wherever the monster passed, a thin layer of ice and condensation sprung up. Hermione could linger no further here if she wanted to be safe; while some eggs were still in the process of freezing over, she reached her hands in to pick up the safest first while waiting for the rest.

She had calculated wrong. Just as she was about to drop the last egg into her side-bag and flee, the icy sweat broke out over Hemione’s brow signalling that the Dementor had reached her. A distant scream—her own, from weeks ago, haunted her as it echoed throughout Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix’s mind flashed across her vision, rotted teeth and mangle hair, her wild eyes staring down on Hermione as she wondered if this would be the last thing she ever saw...

“Good! Get up!” a nearer voice shouted. “ _Expectro_ _Patronum_!” Snape bellowed, his voice ringing out past her own memories as a wave of blue light washed over the floor. The Dementor was blown back by the force of the spell that rippled through the air, finally coming to a stop at the far wall where it shrieked at Snape. Snape’s hand wrapped around Hermione’s wrist as he hauled her up.

Unbidden, Hermione remembered helping Matthew carry Snape in the rain, how he’d looked so weak then and how he needed her help, whether he admitted it or not. She was uneasy on her knees but instinctively brought her own wand up to point at the Dementor that was recovering from the attack. _Focus. Breathe._

“I got the eggs,” Hermione said, stepping backward as her hand shook. Over her right shoulder came the hand of Snape and the wand he held in his grasp, his wrist parallel with her ear. They walked in tandem, sometimes Hermione stepping back on the edge of his toes.

“It’s alerted the rest of them that are here. We’re out of time.” He was calling it quits? Hermione gritted her teeth. They couldn’t leave these people here to continue suffering!

“We have to get the rest of the eggs, or this will keep happening—”

“Don't argue,” Snape said, her voice at her left ear. Hermione had to struggle to keep her eyes fixed on the Dementor that was testing how close it could travel while they retreated. “Dementors first. Do you understand?”

Snape grabbed Hermione’s left arm, the one she’d been holding out from her side to balance herself, when she didn’t immediately reply. He used her extended hand to pull her to the side so that they could swap places. Now, she was at the threshold of the stairs and he was at her back. Above on the staircase were two more shades, looming and dark, clustered together and fighting for space in desire to sap the life from Hermione and Severus.

“You clear the way, I’ll watch behind. I can hold them off for longer.”

“Look, I _can’t_ cast—” Hermione warned, and Snape elbowed her in the back to move her closer to the threshold.

“Are you a witch or not, Hermione?” Snape cut through her yet again. Hermione couldn’t answer at that moment. “So act like it.”

Hermione held her wand aloft. She was the brightest witch of her age, accomplished in most types of spells, and she had survived a war with Lord Voldemort...but she was still very relieved that Snape was there, too. Hermione was tired of being the only logical one between Harry and Ron, it felt strangely comforting to have somebody she could rely on. She thought of her home, Hogwarts, with the Great Hall and all her friends. It was in the future that hadn’t happened yet. Hermione, Harry, Ron, all the D.A. and all the teachers having dinner. Hermione was so warm she thought she was there—seeing the future she so desperately craved. Home, with Snape there too in peace, back where they belonged.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!” Hermione screamed, watching the otter leap forth in a stream of warm, bright light to protect her and Snape from the Dementors as they descended down on the pair.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not posting this weekend! A few things came up, so I'll post this and the next today as an apology!

Severus suddenly felt Hermione’s back disappear. He twisted around to see where she’d gone, but saw that she was only a few paces ahead of him, the beam of her spell lighting the way. For a moment he was blinded. In order to not lose her, Severus skipped over the remaining steps between them and looped his arm around the crook of her elbow. She jumped at the sudden contact but her focus never faltered. They pressed their backs together to form a singular, moving force.

The blast from her spell had been enough to blow back three Dementors from the stairwell, and the form of the ethereal blue otter bounced ahead of them happily. He wanted to mention he’d told her so but Severus tried to just remember to do that later. Now Severus was able to push Hermione ahead and onto the third floor. Above them Severus could hear the shrieking wail of the Dementors as they were filled with rage from being tossed around. _Good riddance_ , Severus harrumphed. Dementors were parasites that should have been exiled long ago. They served no greater good, and none in their ranks had any mercy among them.

“Strong! There’s no eggs here!” Hermione called out. As he remained in the doorway to spot any attacks, Severus could see the stove had been left open. The fire was no more.

“Keep searching, they’re around here,” Severus refuted. Hermione closed the stove and looked around. Of course, every surface was covered in cloth. It seemed here was where the clothes had been taken to add buttons, zippers, ties, and other various odds or ends. She shoved up her sleeves a little higher and grabbed the end of her skirt and tied it up, showing she’d been wearing trousers the whole time, and pushed the last few strands of her hair back. “What are you waiting—” Severus began as he watched her.

“ _Aguamenti_!” Hermione cried, dousing every surface she could see. Jars of buttons were scattered about as waves of water hit them along with scrap-piles of cloth soaking up the surprise downpour. A few sizzles were heard as the floor turned from ashy grey to muddy brown. Severus grimaced as a clear inch of water began to run over the doorway he occupied and soak into his shoes and socks, then flow down the stairs.

Once the room was drenched, he could hear the hissing of a few Ashwinders, and then silence. That was one way to take care of it. Severus beckoned her to the stairs again where the Dementors were readying their next onslaught. From the floor below, the first Dementor they met first was trying to creep up the stairwell while three, maybe even four of them were bearing down from the floors above. How many were there? Severus could feel his face grow colder as he and Hermione readied their wands. Hermione didn’t pause at the door, she was already ducking under his arm as she took the lead again. Her face was invigorated again and all traces of doubt had been extinguished. Severus wondered what had taken her so long to get back on track. It wasn’t like Hermione to be unprepared to face a challenge.

“Do you smell that?” Hermione asked, and Severus cast another wave of blue light over his shoulder.

“What? Gas, or something?” Severus picked out as he looked above them in the stairwell. They might be truly too late. He pointed up at the ceiling above them as a thin layer of black smoke was already swirling around in the air. “We’ve got a fire.”

Hermione was ready in a flash, casting a series of circle movements over her face and Severus’ until a semi-firm mask of bubbles encased their noses and mouths. When it was finished he could breathe as clearly as if he were in a forest. Pleased with her work, Hermione turned around to deal with the next task of facing off against the Dementors. While Hermione’s spell was still able to deal damage to the fiendish creatures as they floated down on her her range was getting smaller. Severus knew that nobody, no matter how happy or fulfilled they were, could always keep this many Dementors at bay for long. Eventually they’d have to make a run for it and say to hell with the rest of the eggs and the Dementors.

Severus pressed his back up to Hermione’s, turning to face off against the pair of Dementors they had passed on their rise to the fourth floor. Even between their work Severus still felt himself weary under the constant pressure from the Dementors. Severus’ own reserves of power remained due to one thing that set him apart from most wizards. His Occlumency skills, honed from years of needing to hide his true intentions from both Voldemort and Dumbledore, were as sharp as a blade. He’d tried to teach the idiotic Potter a thing or two but found the boy nearly incapable. It was not mental fortitude that made him less susceptible to the Imperius Curse like Severus had been led to believe; it was the boy’s sheer, unbridled will.

“Block off your mind,” Severus shouted over the screech of a Dementor. “Don’t give them anything to feed from!”

“Sure, I’ll get right on that,” Hermione snapped back with an incredulous tone. Hermione had beaten back the Dementors one more time and leaped into the fourth floor. Perhaps she was a sheer force of will, as well. Peering into the increasing smoke and the black fog, it was almost difficult to tell if the figures in front of them were dress forms or assailants. While Hermione stumbled ahead to reach the stove, a shadowy form drifted toward her in the low light.

“Ahead of you!” Severus called out. Five Dementors were swirling just beyond reach. Could they get to the top floor like this? Even though Hermione’s Bubble-Headed Charm provided them with air, the growing smoke made his eyes sting and he was forced to squint to find his enemies.

Severus heard the casting of another Patronus, causing the Dementor to scream out in rage as it was tossed against the wall. Hermione rushed to put out the few flames growing in the mess of construction materials, dress forms, and discarded work. When he glanced over his shoulder to check her progress, he noted the stove had been left open, and nothing but a few weak coals remained.

Was this sabotage? Severus squinted back into the dark stairwell when he heard not only the Dementors but Muggles rushing up as well. Thankfully, he didn’t have to summon Hermione, who was already running back to her starting position. They pressed on, with one more floor to go. It was getting darker and harder to see. At the threshold, not even the light from Hermione’s Patronus was enough to cut through the pitch black of the fifth and final floor. Around them, fire was abound. It was a wonder to Severus that these places didn’t regularly just go up in flames.

Having barreled through the Dementors, the creatures were now all fighting for space just beyond where Severus’ Patronus waves could reach. He could still hear Muggles as they tried to breach the smoke in front of them to battle the fire themselves. Severus chose the lesser of two evils and entered the burning floor, barring the door behind himself with a hefty lock that sprung across the door with heavy chains. Whatever it was that had been stored in here or was made, it was long gone. The fire had eaten its way up the walls and was starting in on some of the furniture. Ashwinders slithered around in the dark, lighting their way and leaving a trail of white soot where they had passed. Severus tried to keep his eyes on the ground while also seeking Hermione with the lit end of his wand.

“Good? Where are you?” Severus called into the cacophony of snaps and crackles. Orange lights were dancing up the sides of the room but nobody answered. All suspicions of sabotage were replaced with a very high probability, and as Severus cast his own water spell, a voice called out.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” the wizard in the dark called. Severus kept his wand up, but allowed the water to run out. Severus could hear the pounding, scraping, gouging of the Dementors' clawed hands as they raked against the door. That door was Hermione and Severus' only defense...and their only way out.

Severus cast a light to the end of his wand and tried to seek out some tangible form in the dark. As smoke rolled along on the air, the bending light of a distant flame made him think somebody was at his side, and he would whip about. This was no good. Severus needed to get to Hermione and escape, now.

“If this is how you think you’ll beat me, you’re more foolish than Voldemort,” Severus taunted. The voice cackled. He still couldn’t recognize it.

“I don’t want to beat you. I want to bring you with me,” the wizard said, close and far. He was manipulating his voice. If Severus could find the course he’d be able to hit even in the dark. Tears flowed freely down Severus’ cheeks as he strained his vision in the polluted air. “The Dark Lord will live again. I have already promised it to you, Severus Snape.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Severus hissed as an Ashwinder spat angrily when something got too close. Like a reflex, Severus fired off a Full-Body Bind in an attempt to catch somebody. The spell ricocheted off the back wall and struck a pillar instead of his mark. From far on his right side, a Stupefy blistered toward him as he parried off, and sent another in return. There was no such luck as hitting anything. Where was Hermione? She’d disappeared, and while the room was growing slightly brighter it also filled with even more smoke. It wafted past his face and clothes, and although the Bubble-Headed Charm provided him with fresh air, it did little to stop the filthy stench of the smoke.

“If you leave, I’ll spare Granger,” the voice in the dark offered almost sweetly. Severus felt his chest clench for a moment. Was that where Hermione was? He shouldn’t have let her run in alone! But he’d never been the type to lead, not in battle. That was Gryffindor business. He had to stall for more time.

“You can keep her! If you think you’re capable of controlling Granger, you’ll be as dead as your master,” Severus called over the crackle of fire. He had to think of a way to find Hermione in the dark. How would he want to be found? How could he look without giving away his position? The answer came from the demanding chill at his back that broke through the flames. How did Dementors do it? Closing his eyes, he sought out for the mind of somebody, anybody who wasn't prepared. If it was their attacker he would know their position. If it was Hermione, he could find her.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Severus cast under his breath, his conscious vision leaping into the closest unguarded mental position. From inside their eyes Severus could see feet—his own, the stance he carried as he leaned further on his right foot.

Severus released his grasp on the mind and ducked under the bench, halfway to casting when he realized the face he saw was Hermione’s. She’d tucked herself low to avoid the smoke and could see more clearly. Hermione pressed her fingers to her lips and pointed with her wand to approximately where the stove was, in the center of the room.

“Are you here to do a dead man’s bidding,” Severus asked as a dangerous creak warned that they were running out of time for this banter. “Or are you one of the eternally loyal, ignorant to the dangerous hubris of such a power-greedy wizard? How many times will Harry Potter have to defeat Tom Riddle?” Severus prodded. If his attacker was bothered by the insults he did not immediately respond.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out, when I take you back with me,” the voice no longer bounced, but declared flatly from behind Severus.

Before he could react, a bolt of light parted the smoke so deftly Severus thought it was lightning. It slammed just over Severus’ shoulder and into the wizard who let out a roar of pain in response. Severus turned to compound the damage, but the wizard was already shaking off the spell and had obliterated the lock keeping the Dementors out. With a crack, he was gone, again. The Dementors rushed the room with nothing else to keep them out. Severus whipped his wand left and right to blast at them with Patronus waves, finding another replaced where one had been deflected. They were nearly atop him—rattling breath and icicles formed around him even through the rage of the fire.

“Sir! _Expecto Patronum_! Severus, over here!” Hermione shouted, crawling from under the bench and grabbing at his free hand. She jerked him so swiftly Severus was nearly toppled, tripping over rubble as they ran through the fire with Dementors on their trail.

“Where are we going?” Severus called as Hermione sent a blast of cold air in front of her, cutting through the smoke. As the billows of black haze moved and shifted, Severus saw a faint trail of light on the other side of the room, the remnants of a window that had been boarded up. Wordlessly another spell shot from the edge of Hermione’s wand and slammed into the boards as they became little more than matchstick wood. Hermione had created an exit as light began to flood the corner of the fifth floor.

Severus, feeling the chill through the blistering flames, turned on his heel and sent out a final wave of Patronus Charm, as he could feel his muscles weaken in the cold. Through the smoke Severus saw the menacing blur of decaying cloaks, faceless creatures beneath the thin veils seeking them with only hunger as their drive. He could hear their rattling breath draw closer in the wake of the fire. Hermione pulled him onward now, his hand behind his back and gripping at her wrist, her hand locked onto his forearm. Never had he ever been in synchronization with somebody like this; Severus assumed this is what happened when two brilliant minds were working toward the common goal.

“We’ll have to jump,” Hermione said over her shoulder as they drew near to the window. “Can you slow us?” Their feet crunched over broken glass, flaming debris that was now drifting toward the ground, and whatever remained of the boards covering the windows. Severus wanted to roll his eyes. _Could_ he? Really?

“Observe,” Severus announced, whirling about with his hand still clasped onto Hermione’s wrist, wrapping their arms together around Hermione’s waist. It was the safest way to ensure they’d be together during the fall. He could feel Hermione stiffen as Severus knocked them from the window and into the alley below.

They drifted as soft as clouds, delicate on the air as Hermione remained pressed up against him with her head fixed upward to avoid glancing down. He could feel almost the faintest of trembles. It could be unnerving to see the ground so far below with no guarantee that it would meet you kindly. Severus knew, having taught himself to fly. But only he could do that—so he kept his wand pointed at their feet while they descended at a leisurely pace. Severus had no fear that the Dementors, who were shy of the light, would follow them into this briskly beautiful May day.

Hermione worked her wand arm free before removing the Bubble-Head Charm from their faces before raising it high to point at the roof above them. Severus watched as she cast red and green sparks over and over, shaping them into spirals and stars high above the factory streets. When she was done her arm tucked back against her side as it folded over Severus’ grasp as if to ensure she wasn’t going anywhere.

“So the Ministry can come and...and deal with the Dementors,” Hermione fought to say past her obvious discomfort about being in the air. “Otherwise...i-it’s just another factory fire,” she explained.

“Wise, Miss Good,” Severus approved. Hermione said nothing, or if she did, he couldn't hear it over the nearby crackle of the factory being consumed from the top down.

Severus floated them breezily down to the alley, and once they landed Hermione swayed on the spot. Severus thought she might be sick so he did the rational thing and detached in case she was going to vomit. She seemed aware that they couldn’t stay long for her to catch her breath. Hermione tried jogging down the alley as if to get out to the main street but Severus was able to snatch her elbow before she got too far. No, they’d have to walk around. He could hear fire crews rolling up to the scene.

“Wrong way, unless you want us to get caught,” Severus said, not realizing Hermione was still so unsteady on her feet. She stumbled backward into him as he was forced to keep her upright. Was she always this ridiculous about heights?

“We didn’t get all the Ashwinders, or the eggs,” Hermione said but didn’t move. Severus didn’t know why that mattered right now. “And we didn’t really get rid of the Dementors. They’ll probably come back to this factory once it’s open again.”

Severus tucked Hermione into the crook of his arm so tight that her shoulder dug into his ribs. They marched behind the factories and ducked through alleys, keeping their sooty faces low and their bodies in the shadows. Eventually the sounds of the factory had faded behind the ambient sounds of typical London life.

“It’s not our problem right now, Good. We got the people out of that building, and the Ministry is going to take control. There will be no more magic fires in there ever again. The Muggles can even go back and work there,” Severus offered as if that could outweigh what they were both thinking.

“Sir...” Hermione asked, her voice cracking with a cough from the smoke. “Did we really lose?”

Severus pulled Hermione into the alley, far from any prying eyes. Her blouse, the apples of her cheeks, and forehead were coated in matte black smudges over her skin. Through the soot on her cheeks were a few wet lines that cleaned away the evidence of fire. Even her hairline was thick with sweat. Her eyes were red—but Severus didn’t want to consider if it was from the smoke, or the fear. They’d come very close to their assailant today with nothing more to show for it than filthy clothes and promises.

“I cannot say,” Severus admitted. Her head jerked to the side as if she didn’t want to hear it. “I do know that if we keep this up, we just might have the upper hand after all.”

“How? In all this—how?” Hermione snapped while wiping up the sweat that trickled down her face. Severus produced a handkerchief which she initially refused, but then when she realized her hands were actually filthy, she used the cloth to wipe up all over her cheeks and nose. Hermione missed her forehead but Severus wasn’t going to mention it. He probably looked like the wrong end of a Floo right now.

“We’re not the only ones looking into him now,” Severus reminded. Now that the Ministry was alerted to the factory, it was possible that Severus and Hermione were also on a watch-list, but that meant the other wizard was in just as much hot water if not more. “Good...Granger, if you’re not dead, you’re winning.”

That was what he’d said to himself every night that he couldn’t sleep, at least. In the dim alley, Hermione sighed and looked up at him in search of something. He could see the questions reflected in her eyes. _Would it always be like this? Did there have to be a battle, every day? Was life just about surviving?_ Severus didn’t want to give away all the hard truths right now. To be committed to something like they were was a lifelong battle; they had to make their choices, and either stand by them, or die by them. When Severus was sure she was going to say something, she snorted and handed back the handkerchief.

“I can’t believe you said all that, about how they'd be dead if they tried to control me,” Hermione noted. Severus turned around to keep the heat that was growing on his face secret from her. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you think higher of me than you let on.”

“I have dealt with many students in my years, few as over-achieving as you. I was simply trying to buy time. Come along, we’re going back to Lady McCray’s,” Severus snapped, setting course for the main street. He could hear her stifle a disbelieving chuckle from behind him as she followed just behind his arm.

“I could cast a full Patronus just thinking about a bath right now,” Hermione sighed, patting her hands off on her skirt again. Severus tried not to turn his head to look at her but found himself glancing over his shoulder.

“So, the method works for you?” he asked but remained unsure why he did so. Hermione nodded.

“I thought about going home, like you said,” she started, wistfully. “Hogwarts. All my friends. Just...everything being okay.”

Severus may not have taught Hermione the skill of Occlumency under the pressure of a burning building, but he had imparted something of great value. Severus could say he had taught her that people like them, who had been through so much they forgot their happy memories, could still defend themselves against the monsters that fed off fear and despair. She was not like Potter who wore his heart on his sleeve for those who would use it. She didn’t resemble Dumbledore who calculated around everyone else, like a chess player and his pawns. Hermione was...much like him. Tested, hardened, and maybe she couldn’t sleep because of the things she equally had and hadn’t done.

One day, maybe in that far-off future where they were in the oft-promised 'okay', he’d teach her about how to make the nights when she couldn’t sleep into something that could also be called okay. Hermione had earned it.


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione sat while Tabby braided up Hermione’s hair into a circular crown around her head, finding new ways to tuck the unruly ends in to keep each strand together. At the end of it Hermione felt like she’d been given a facelift but knew that the Dutch crown wasn’t going anywhere. Tabby placed the final pin with a pleased little hum of appreciation at her fine handiwork that took very little time at all.

This pampering had started when Tabby saw Snape and Hermione walk into the foyer and screamed at them to stay still. Tabby began all but stripping the pair of their smokey clothes with aggravated snaps of her fingers. First their shoes and outerwear like coats disappeared, and then Tabby started practically ripping the half-burnt skirt from Hermione’s hips. Hermione felt vindicated for wearing her trousers underneath. Imagine if it had just been an underskirt or even worse, just bloomers.

She and Snape were sent to their individual rooms so that Tabby could contain the mess, which was just as well for Hermione, who had a lot to consider. Tabby drew Hermione a bath with luscious bubbles that smelled of lavender. The water was silky warm and full of oil and special salts for scrubbing. Tabby offered to help Hermione but that was where Hermione drew the line. Hermione took her time, running the scrubbing cloth over her face and ears a few times until she was certain that she got it all. In silence, Hermione found herself thinking about the wizard, his intentions with Snape, and what it meant for her.

_'If you leave, I’ll spare Granger’_ had been the most unsettling part. Hermione had gotten lower to the ground while hoping to see further and had spotted a pair of plain brown oxfords standing close to the stove. As if he’d felt her eyes watching him, the figure slowly turned around and tapped his right foot three times, showing Hermione that he knew all along where he was.

It was only when she’d spotted Snape’s feet in the dark (black shoes didn’t really stand out in black smoke, it had taken her some time to find him) that Hermione had also been able to see the wizard appear in a blur behind Snape in time to hex him. How was this wizard able to travel while they were not? Hermione scrubbed her hands extra hard while deep in thought. It was more insidious to know that Snape was wanted for some other purpose. But if she didn’t factor into that greater plan, that meant she was expendable, and Hermione knew what happened to spares in Lord Voldemort’s designs. Her smiling photo would be placed next to Cedric Diggory and all the other countless students who had died...or if they never returned home, nobody would ever know.

Once the bath had lost its warmth, Hermione left it and made use of the thick towel Tabby had left behind, along with the minty-green dressing gown. She didn’t really see how this differed much from any other piece in Lady McCray's wardrobe. It was no less structured than any other dress she’d seen among the fashionable women of London; the high neck and long sleeves were still integrated, along with a floor-length style and a cord at the waist, but instead of lacing into anything underneath Hermione was allowed to remain in bloomers and a chemise. The detailing was inarguably lovely. Silk diamond shapes in blue and yellow were quilted across the front and hemming the pockets and the lining was quilted with cotton. If Tabby hadn’t told her this was a dressing gown, Hermione would have been comfortable wearing it into public.

How many clothes did Lady McCray have anyway that Tabby could bring her just anything despite Hermione having her own clothes? Hermione also wondered where Lady McCray’s generosity ended. There was absolutely a price for everything. Even Tabby was in on the game; she asked Hermione while she braided her wet hair up if they’d found anything from their field work. Begrudgingly, Hermione relinquished the fifteen frozen Ashwinder eggs stashed in her bag.

Hermione was invited to have dinner with Mr. Reese to present their field report, with Snape present of course. They were expected to make a full report with him as their employer was still indisposed. They would be paid accordingly after dinner and free to continue their research before the next call. Until then, Hermione was given leave to borrow any books she would like, as long as she put them back where she found them. In a way that did help her feel a little bit better.

“Miss, tea?” Tabby asked, producing a cup. Hermione took a sip before realizing the tea smelled awful. Not wanting to be rude, Hermione downed the concoction. It tasted like old bitter medicine.

“T-Thank you, Tabby,” Hermoine choked out. Tabby patted Hermione’s back with a firm hand.

“Clear the lungs, it will,” Tabby assured in her affected Slavic accent. Hermione almost found it kind of funny.

Of course, the interesting thing was Tabby was completely decked in a little maid costume. She had a hat with doll hair sewn at the temples to cover her bald head, a black smock with a white apron, and even tiny house slippers. Still, she remained in Lady McCray’s service despite the known law that clothed house-elves were free. She must really like it here, Hermione considered. Hermione didn’t know a lot of Pureblood wizards or witches who treated house-elves with enough kindness that they stayed after being gifted clothes.

Hermione thanked Tabby for putting up her hair, and Tabby responded in kind that she’d be back to help Hermione again when she was ready for dinner. Though Hermione’s stomach squeezed at the thought of being put back in a corset she feigned a small smile and returned to her discarded notepad for work. She worked while sometimes pacing, sometimes sitting, writing out complex formulas and facts. Hermione knew she’d need more information from Snape about the Dark Mark—but she’d ask that later. When the sunlight drew thinner in her room, Hermione realized with a start that she’d been essentially following its path through her room. The available patches of sun moved around as the hours drew on and Hermione’s radius of pacing grew smaller. After it was gone Hermione felt nausea and a lingering chill.

Of course. The Dementors, they had taken a lot out of her. Hermione remembered that Snape had pushed her into the sun after her first encounter. What an interesting development; Hermione knew that Muggles had a word for depression linked with lack of sunlight in parts of the world where it was a rarity, ironically known as SAD, but she’d never considered that sunlight could be effective in diminishing the powers of Dementors. She only remembered the chocolate that Remus Lupin had given Harry. It was times like these that nobody could deny that Snape was a brilliant wizard. Under pressure he could be cold, but he was also well-equipped to handle just about anything. His experience in the Dark Arts made him a valuable asset. So why, when the sunlight was gone, did Hermione think about...everything?

Was it a trick, or was he actually being nicer to her? He’d offered words of encouragement, thanked her, stuck up for her. Hermione felt a lurch in her stomach when she realized she’d called him by his first name. Hot blush crept up her face and made her hairline prickle. Why had she done that?! Hermione wanted to crawl under a blanket and disappear. _No, no,_ Hermione rationalized. _It’s not like that. That’s his name. He’s not my teacher anymore._ So why did it feel so weird? _Severus_. Hermione fiddled with the name in her mind. It made her feel disconnected from their history. Perhaps, in a way that was better?

Lost in the horror of herself, Hermione reacted a second late to the knock at her door. No. Nope. He’d better not be there. Hermione hurriedly tried to think of anything else when she rose to open the door, letting out a breath of air when she realized it was just Tabby, again.

“Miss alright?” Tabby asked while taking in Hermione as her shoulders dropped three inches in relief.

“Yes, sorry,” Hermione said, allowing Tabby to enter with the folded clothes. The outfit didn’t seem too complicated—just another plain blouse and this time a maroon skirt with yellow pinstripes. “Just lost in my own head.”

Tabby produced a thin article of clothing that looked like a small laundry bag, and Hermione realized with disdain it was a girdle, of sorts. It just seemed as if keeping trim was the acceptable fashion of the time and Hermione was going to have to get used to it. But nowhere was the corset to be seen among the ensemble. Slipping, or rather tucking, into the beginner’s corset was an easy enough task, and Tabby began to work on lacing the sides down. The lined cotton wrap created a similar shape of the corset but far less extreme. Hermione had seen some of the girls wear body-socks like this under their Yule Ball gowns and wondered what the fuss was—just buy something that fits?

Hermione was only grateful that the sleeves reached her wrist and the skirt was pinned up by Tabby to keep her from tripping on it. Getting up from a sitting position without stepping on her own hem was going to be her only problem. Hermione had to admit she looked like a serious woman in this outfit, with her hair wrapped back and a great-grandmother’s wardrobe on. She assumed the only thing wrong with the picture here was her complexion. Would Lady McCray like her more if she were white? That was a silly question; the answer was a resounding yes in Hermione’s head. _She seemed to like Snape just fine, and she was positively fawning over him all the time._

Hermione blinked again. What was wrong with her? She’d been spending too much time depending on Snape, and now she was jealous that Lady McCray wanted to monopolize him. But Hermione assumed it was more dangerous with Lady McCray as the deceased Lily Potter doppelganger. In all fairness, if Snape had to choose between Hermione and Lily, it would be no competition. He’d loved Lily personally for so long while detesting Hermione. Hermione wanted to let out a frustrated sigh, but Tabby was still in the room. Why was it about choosing? She was his former student! It wasn’t even comparable.

Snape had given his word that he’d get her home. That was all she needed to think about. Hermione assumed these obsessive thoughts were a carry-over from a time when she wanted everyone’s approval because she was a Muggleborn and her distrust of Lady McCray’s motivations. Snape already said he didn’t trust her, anyway.

Tabby had left the crown braid up by Hermione’s request, and once the blouse and skirt were on Hermione was ready. She could bend and twist with ease. Even better, Hermione could breathe freely. She even took a huge gasp just to give it a try. Being able to fill her lungs was an immense pleasure between the torture of the corset and the smoke inhalation that Hermione had suffered earlier.

“Tabby understands, Miss is unused to how things are done here,” Tabby began as she watched Hermione twist and turn. “Mr. Strong tells Tabby not to use Lady McCray’s lovely corset any longer. Miss can borrow this as long as she likes. Unseemly to be without one on, in public,” Tabby warned with a disdainful sniff.

_Oh, you’re fucking joking._ He told Tabby? Hermione merely smiled while thanking Tabby for being understanding, but in reality she was trying to gauge what Tabby thought of that. If Tabby found it scandalous that Snape had opinions on Hermione's underclothes, or if she told her mistress, Tabby wasn’t letting Hermione know. Tabby just showed Hermione how to button the skirt with a small hook-like contraption that slipped through the button-hole and tugged the button through.

At half-past six, a bell rang downstairs. Tabby dismissed herself to finish with dinner while Hermione remained in the dim bedroom. She’d really startled herself. Their joint return to the future relied on Hermione and Snape working as a unit, nothing else. Of course he depended on her—it was nearly natural. Hermione depended on him too, as a mentor. Besides, Hermione concluded with a wash of melancholy, there was Ron waiting for her return. They shared a deep love and a lasting friendship for nearly eight years.

Their kiss in the Chamber of Secrets had solidified their feelings for one another. When Hermione said to Lady McCray that she didn’t know if she was in love, that had just been Hermione's insecurities. She loved the Ron Weasley who had always been there for her. Hermione wondered what he was doing right now. Was he smiling with Harry, Luna, and Neville, or grieving the death of Fred with his family? Or was Ron looking for her? Hermione still felt a little raw about him leaving as suddenly as he did on their journey through the Forest of Dean, but he’d done it because of jealousy. Didn’t that prove that she was important to him?

At seven, Hermione drew herself up with a sigh and resigned herself to not knowing the future. She felt a nasty jerk when she realized there was still the theory that Voldemort had not been completely defeated. Even if all of his acolytes were in Azkaban it wouldn’t matter because he could always get more. There would be more complicit Lucius Malfoys, malicious Bellatrix Lestranges, spying Peter Pettigrews. There would always be some that would flock to the sides of men like Voldemort.

Hermione wrenched open her door and made her way downstairs, kicking the edge of the skirt as she went to keep it from under her feet. To her sudden and great displeasure, Snape was already sitting with Mr. Reese, tucking their napkins onto their laps. All the embarrassment made its way to the surface mixed in with a startling amount of latent rage. He’d had no business telling Tabby about the other night. It irked Hermione nthat she wasn’t trusted to make her own decisions about her wardrobe! It was enough that he’d made her change this morning, but then he was snitching to the house-elf?

Snape glanced up but he seemed at his most disinterested to see her there. Hermione kicked her skirt across the floor as she walked to find her seat opposing Snape. Mr. Reese greeted her brightly before opening up a small wooden case where a Quick-Notes Quill and a pot of ink sprung out, along with a notepad. Hermione gave him a smile that probably came across more as a grimace by the time she was seated.

“Mr. Reese was just about to send Tabby to fetch you. Please try to be more on time with our appointments,” Snape drawled, acting as if he was so much better than her! It made her forehead throb with annoyance. Hermione found herself wanting to throw the largest spoon on her napkin at him but refrained. She couldn't promise it would stay that way.

“I apologize, I’m working on a solution to getting home,” Hermione replied a little more crisp than she meant, but it felt good. “You _do_ remember where we’re from, right?” Hermione added for good measure. Snape’s eyes narrowed for a moment in unfiltered irritation though he said nothing. Mr. Reese let out a shy cough to break the icy tension growing between Hermione and Snape as they had a staring-match across the table.

“Right, well,” Mr. Reese cleared the air by tapping his fingers on the table. “Could you start from the beginning, Mr. Strong?”

Snape blinked and the tension rolling around in Hermione was all but gone. Her headache remained, but Snape’s face shifted within a matter of seconds. The irritable gaze was replaced with a flat stare—like he was trying to figure out what was going on in Hermione’s mind. _Don’t even try it_ , Hermione warned, the words and the feeling ringing around her head. If he dared to use Legilimency, Hermione didn't want him to think he was ever welcome inside her head.

“Yes,” Snape agreed, turning away from Hermione and bringing his attention to the interview.

As he relayed the story about the Muggles, then the factory, the quill bobbed over the paper without pause. Tabby served the dinner; roast chicken and baked potatoes, asparagus and a side soup. Everything smelled heavenly and tasted as good as anything Hermione had ever had. Of course she was able to eat freely while Snape did all the important talking. Mr. Reese never even turned to ask for any details from her. Mr. Reese, polite as ever, listened intently but displayed no sign that he was shocked by anything he heard. Every once in a while he would interject with a ‘of course’ or a respectful ‘naturally’. As far as interviews go, this was not an awful one. Hermione had been subjected to Rita Skeeter—worst slander journalist on the face of the earth.

“Did you discover the person or persons who took the eggs from the upper floors?” Mr. Reese asked and Snape glanced at Hermione. She was poised over a bite of chicken when it happened and his gaze caught her off guard. Was he asking her permission? When did he ever need that for anything?

“We did,” Snape began with a small nod. “But...he escaped. We have reason to suspect it’s the wizard that followed us here from our own time.”

Mr. Reese scrunched up his nose, taking a rather annoyed stab at the chicken breast in front of him. This was probably the least happy she’d ever seen Mr. Reese except from when she’d threatened him. With a toss of his napkin onto the side of his plate, Hermione watched Mr. Reese draw a small abacus from his coat pocket and began to do calculations. Five minutes of tense silence punctuated by sharp clicks filled the dining room. Hermione glanced over at Snape who was following the beads across the rows. No, his eyes didn't just follow, they were counting along with the abacus. Hermione had never learned how to use one, though she knew the tool was almost as old as math itself.

Mr. Reese was an accountant for Lady McCray among all the other tasks, which Hermione found interesting. Didn’t she have magical accounts that Mr. Reese as a Muggle wouldn’t be able to access? He probably handled the Muggle accounts and maybe had another assistant who would exchange the Muggle money for wizarding money at Gringotts. So far, that was how Snape and Hermione had been paid, with only a small amount set aside for carriage fares.

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, Ashwinder eggs are rare due to their nature of being only accessible through certain conditions. Not every fire can produce them,” Mr. Reese began. The notepad and quill beside Mr. Reese continued to make notes. This lecture did not bode well for them. “However, you only managed to produce fifteen of them.”

“Fifteen Ashwinder eggs is a bounty,” Snape replied. “We’re lucky they didn’t reproduce at an increased speed, due to the temperature inside—”

“No, we’re _not_ lucky,” Mr. Reese said across the excuse, his nose pointing down at Snape. “An Ashwinder in a cold environment can produce between three and five eggs. Exponentially speaking if you discovered three at the Lithgow’s house, twelve on the first floors, you should have found approximately upwards of forty. You recovered less than half. I assume you performed adequate damage control when you took the factory proprietors into the basement?” Mr. Reese turned back up and folded his fingers.

Snape seemed more than just a little miffed. He blinked back apparent frustration, his fingers curling around the edges of his silverware. It seemed like he was trying to prevent himself from getting snarky with Mr. Reese and it was close to killing him. Hermione watched Snape struggle to begin his explanation for a moment.

“I neutralized them with a swift Stupefy. I had other business to attend upstairs, dealing with the Dementors and Miss Good,” Snape offered with a nod to Hermione as if to illustrate his point. Hermione felt herself get angrier. Like she was so incapable of handling anything herself? At this Mr. Reese rocked his head back and forth in a slow shake.

“Did you contain the Dementors?” Mr. Reese continued. Snape went still again. “I see. So, in total, we have fifteen Ashwinder eggs, loose Dementors in a burning building, and you think the wizard who came with you was behind it all? Rather convenient,” Mr. Reese finalized as the quill just began drawing straight lines under words that Hermione could not see.

Hermione could see through her own frustration that Mr. Reese was being overly critical. How would he have dealt with it? Did he know what being around a Dementor felt like? What about that inescapable dread, a raging fire, and a man trying to take Snape back to the present? Mr. Reese set the abacus to his side and glanced over the notes with his mouth set in a firm line under his mustache.

“Due to damages in the building and its occupants, along with the Ministry being called to the scene when magical sparks were reported by the dozens of witnesses which we had to bribe, your collected Ashwinder eggs only cover the expenses of what Lady McCray’s account was able to smooth over with your credit,” Mr. Reese informed gravely. Hermione could have sworn she saw a twinkle in Mr. Reeses’ eye when Snape displayed acute aggravation. “We won't be able to pay you for this. In the future, please do be more considerate to your task.”

“I believe we’d done everything to the best of our abilities—”

“If that is the best, Mr. Strong, I suggest a different line of work. Lady McCray does not like to draw attention to herself and pays only for the best work _done_ , not the best work _you_ can do,” Mr. Reese retorted.

Hermione wished she had her wand on her right now so she could turn him upside down again. But across the table, Snape was frozen in place. His jaw was set forward as if grasping something in his front teeth, but upon noticing Hermione was watching him, he closed his lips and broke his gaze with Mr. Reese to glance back down at his dinner plate. Was he...defeated?

“I see. We’ll revise our standards, then,” Snape managed as he set his silverware down.

Mr. Reese nodded once and stood, his plate disappearing as he did so. Hermione stumbled over the lip of her skirt as both she and Snape rose, as they had learned is customary in parting, while Mr. Reese declared to Tabby that he was going to go to the bank before visiting Lady McCray. With that he exited the dining room where Hermione and Snape remained in silence. Snape stared at his plate for another moment before leaning back in his seat, his eyes finding Mr. Reese’s empty chair. After a few breaths of time he glanced over at Hermione again with a deep sigh through his nose.

“I’ll be working on some things upstairs. I suggest that if you need me at any time, don’t. I am equally busy trying to get us home,” Snape gritted while rising from the table. Hermione scooted her chair back to follow him as he stormed up the flight of stairs.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, it’s just...I don’t want us wasting time here—” Hermione began and as Snape landed on the second floor he whirled about. He seemed angry, bruised from Mr. Reese, and unwilling to be forgiving.

“I don’t expect you think we’ll get anywhere for free, what with it being the 19th century and not the Stone Age,” Snape hissed. Hermione thought it was fair, but unfair at the same time to throw her words back. “We’re not wasting time! We’re safer here than out there, and I understand you don’t like it but everyone has to do things they don’t like in order to survive. I won’t accept your childish behavior any longer. You can help me, or you can stay out of my way.”

“Am I not helping, more than anyone?! I came _back_ for you!” Hermione snapped, her hand coming down on the banister.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have, and you’d still be at Hogwarts with your precious Potter and Weasley, whichever one you’re so attached to! It must be so hard for you without them to boss around like you’re used to! Or is it difficult not to be the leader in every single way?” Snape glared while leaning down as he stared into her face.

“Just because you’re in charge doesn’t make you a leader. You need to have a spine for that, Snivellus!” Hermione snarled back, feeling herself enter new territory.

The words were out like a slap across the face, and Snape’s eyes went cold. She’d crossed a line she’d never meant to. Hermione didn’t know what to do. Did she apologize? Did she explain herself? How did she even start that conversation? Hermione knew that phrase was particularly thorny. James Potter had coined it during their years together as Snape's bully, so it carried a certain weight which Hermione had thrown around carelessly. Snape straightened his back without another word and turned away. The sounds of his feet stomping across the floor were almost as loud as the following door slam. Hermione remained on the stairs for a while longer before shakily retreating to her own room. Her breath came short as she leaned against her closed door, straining her eyes in the dark. Hermione waited for what felt like somewhere between three minutes and an hour. It was probably closer to half a minute.

She heard a noise down the hall and it made her bones shake. Was he coming to give her a piece of her mind? Or was he running out on her? Hermione wanted to reach for the knob of the door and open it, or think of the right thing to say to him and let it all go into the past. Feet took the stairs at double time, thumping down and beyond her reach. Hermione let him go without a word. She felt cowardly and ashamed of herself. What right did she have to say that?

Hermione lit her bedside candles as the hours grew longer. By the time she was ready for bed, Snape still didn’t return. Hermione wondered if he’d ever come back at all. She didn’t fear him not returning to the house, as Hermione knew she’d eventually see him. But would the man named Severus be there, or would it be Snape? Hermione wished the Sight was real for her so she could know just that one thing.


	15. Chapter 15

“Frankly, _I_ don’t care. If you want to keep Grindylows and let them strangle you, that's your business. Our employer asked me to retrieve the Acromantula-hybrids in your care. Then you tell me a water creature just...what got out of its cage and walked across to where the giant spiders were, and ate them? Do you really think Lady McCray is going to buy that answer?” Severus asked, bearing down over the desk of the man surrounded by dozens of foul-smelling cages in a tiny hovel.

If Rendal could, he probably would have melted on the spot at the name of Lady McCray. The beast-keeper flexed his gnarled fingers a few times as if struggling to grab a tangible excuse for the upset. Severus drew himself back up and folded his arms with a displeased glare.

“Lady McCray will expect a fulfillment of her order,” Severus added to get the conversation moving.

“I can have them by Wednesday,” Rendal offered meekly.

“Monday,” Severus replied. Rendal’s face fell, but he picked it back up with a nod that he understood. Severus knew it wasn’t a matter of getting them; Acromantula trade hasn’t been banned yet, it was just a matter of price. Rendal would have to pay dearly for the ones he’d lost. Severus turned about and left the tiny hovel in the back alley, turning up his cloak edges to conceal his face a little. Even around Knockturn Alley, there were haves and have-nots of businesses that he didn’t want to get associated with just yet.

Diagon Alley changed very little from what it would become. It had shrunk in size, of course, but still carried its little charms. There was a bookstore and apothecary, Gringotts and Ollivanders, a clothing shop and magical sundries for school, and while many of the names were different or buildings were swapped around, the necessities were all there. Severus ducked into the main street from Knockturn Alley into Diagon Alley, hands shoved in his pockets as he fished out the coins to send a message to Lady McCray. Severus entered the post shop and grabbed a scroll-slip, a tiny paper to attach around the leg of an owl, and noted in the message that Rendel did not have the Acromantulas that Lady McCray ordered and the ‘agreed’ date that Severus would return for a full collection. He hated writing notes of failure especially after his first job three weeks ago.

Had May already passed by? With just two more days left in the month, Severus reflected on his work. He paid the witch at the front desk for the owl and for express delivery. May’s showers had come and gone, and June was almost upon them. The heat was starting to become more evident, Severus noticed. It was harder to want to wear his usual black robe-jacket amalgamation.

Severus knew he had about an hour to spare, so he considered a quick trip to the apothecary to grab some potion ingredients. He was getting low on a few things with all of his various tests. Hermione still hadn’t figured out what had been preventing their abilities to Apparate, so Severus continued working on the solution to breaking down any curses or hexes he’d been afflicted with. From what he could gather, it had targeted him and Severus passed it to Hermione when he’d dragged her into the past, so the root of the problem was his own.

For a moment, Severus wondered about Hermione's progress of literally anything. Not that he’d spoken to her. They were on different shifts after Lady McCray returned from the hospital four days later. Despite their current agreement to only speak about their work, Severus had fought with Lady McCray that Hermione was _his_ assistant, and she directed him with a terse tone to revisit the contract; it stated the individuals Henrietta Good and Severus Strong were under the employment of Lady McCray, and thus, she could use them to perform individual jobs as it was seen fit.

Mostly Hermione had been tasked with shadowing Mr. Reese and doing a lot of research and paperwork. Seemed like a bookworm’s dream. Severus got to leave the house more freely to handle the pick-ups, exchanges, and collections of various items or creatures that Lady McCray desired. If they saw each other, it was in near silence at dinner or at breakfast for twenty minutes before the other was off to do something else. To be entirely truthful—they didn’t even see each other. Hermione sat with a book in front of her and a pad of paper while Severus was busy looking over documentation of reports Lady McCray wanted investigated. They might throw out a polite question here or there about something, but for all intents and purposes Severus might as well have been working with the straight-laced Minerva McGonagall.

Severus thought that he’d done everything right, which had evidently been a miscalculation. When Mr. Reese was talking to him like an idiot and Severus thought about giving him a piece of his mind to send to Lady McCray, Hermione had positively glared at him as if she knew what he was about to say. Severus then sucked up his pride and let Mr. Reese dictate to Severus what the quality of work should be, like an unhappy school teacher. He’d rather take the old-fashioned lashes than to be spoken to like that. Was this what Hermione felt like? No wonder she was so aggravated when she’d come down to dinner.

He knew he’d been abrasive with Hermione when she’d followed him after dinner, but after her first comment that indicated she was upset at their priorities, he’d told her that he was going to his room to work. It was that easy. Severus didn’t want to be bothered! Of course that was going to make him fight back when she pushed. Shouldn’t that have settled it? Did she have to follow him and continue to make him want to use Legilimency on Hermione to figure out what was going through that puzzling brain of hers? He’d thrown words back in her face, but he’d also made his points; they were safer under the widespread protection of Lady McCray, like it or not.

But then _that_ word...that name from a million years ago. Actually that name came from their future, Severus realized with a snort, entering the apothecary. Ulrigard, the shopkeeper, waved at Severus as he’d become quite the familiar face. Severus tilted his head in greeting but left it there otherwise. No need to get unnecessarily attached to anyone here.

After the words they’d exchanged on the stairs those weeks ago, Severus had left to collect himself and run a few tests. Severus knew that Lady McCray was not above slipping potions into food from their first encounter. He’d used a sleepless night to make a nullifying brew that was effective against most potions or poisons. He’d taken a swig and could measure no difference as to how he felt. The blistering anger was not due to anything they’d been given at dinner. It was completely the effect of Hermione’s insults and Mr. Reese’s disdain.

Lady McCray left them to their own jobs during the weeks which was a blessing. If anything, Mr. Reese was delivering their tasks to them individually. They all just got caught in the routines. Breakfast, work, dinner, free time to figure out their predicament, and then sleep. If anything Lady McCray was more helpful than Hermione. At Severus’ request she’d supplied him with numerous books on curse-breaking and various containment enchantments (courtesy of Howard Carter’s private library) for him to study as long as he liked. He had to have a half-dozen tomes on his bedroom desk alone. The current materials Severus were collecting in the apothecary were for Lady McCray. In his few conversations with her, Severus had discovered that Skele-Gro had not been invented yet, and that her treatments at St. Mungo’s were almost the Muggle variety of bed-rest and intensive care. The only reason she received such luxuries was due in large to her prominent magical family.

For the last eight days Severus had been side-tracked into working on what could be the formula for a rudimentary bone-strengthening potion. An easier, less weighty project helped clear the mind for him between repeated frustrations. Severus wasn’t sure about how effective his portion would be for their patron, but perhaps it could fortify Lady McCray's current bone structure? Though Lady McCray had suffered brittle-bones her whole life, her stays in St. Mungo’s left her seeming less bright. It had taken a few days for Severus to see Lady McCray downstairs at the table for her daily Tarot card readings.

“Oh, it is you.” Severus heard from behind him as he glanced through the fresh flower selections. Ulrigard greeted the new patron to the store, and she cheerfully bade him a good day. Severus knew that voice and didn’t want to turn.

“Yes, Miss Good?” Severus asked. There seemed to be fresh daisies and wisteria, which could make the potion smell much nicer, but he couldn’t be sure if the taste would be bearable. He picked a few up to chew on later to determine which flower he should use.

“Mr. Reese and I were just over at Gringotts and we’re taking a carriage back. I thought I'd spotted you, so Mr. Reese wants to know if you want us to wait for you,” Hermione asked. He could hear the crinkle of the scrolls she had tucked under her arm, but he didn’t hear the bell when she’d entered the shop. Severus continued to glance between the fresh flowers. Of course, if neither daisies or wisteria worked, he could try marigolds?

Severus picked up all three before taking them to the counter where he paid for the flower ingredients and tucked them away into his front pocket. Hermione remained where she stood until he was done, her eyes looked up at him without shying away or betraying any emotion. Severus had never been very good at understanding people. Manipulation, sure. Motives were easy. Offended senses and subtle art of pleasant conversation? Even if he had a library on the topic, Severus couldn't have learned it.

“Since I’m going that way, I suppose I’ll take the carriage,” Severus said. They shared no more words as they exited the apothecary and turned out toward the Leaky Cauldron where the Muggle carriage would be waiting for them.

Hermione hefted up the load of scrolls under her arm again while waiting for Severus to follow. Mr. Reese was outside waiting, and he greeted Severus congenially while they walked. Even though Hermione followed behind the two men, it was still awkward to be around one another. They’d not really spoken in weeks. Did she feel as uncomfortable as he did? At the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, a pub which was exactly the same in the future as the past, Mr. Reese let out an impolite swear word as he tapped his finger to his head. He gave Hermione an apologetic smile when she turned to him to see what was wrong.

“Miss Good, did you happen to see my...?”

“I grabbed your calendar, it’s in my bag,” Hermione motioned with a twist of her shoulder to show the tote she also carried. “Didn’t want that misplaced, or we’d have to go through that line again,” Hermione sighed with a feigned half-smile. Mr. Reese let out a full belly laugh at something that was humorous but then shook his head.

“No no, we won’t make it through a second time. Did you see her hat? Merry Widow hat, indeed. Anyway, I realized I’ve completely forgotten to retrieve the seal on the loan,” Mr. Reese said and Hermione visibly struggled to not let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry, why don’t you go on ahead with Mr. Strong and I’ll take the papers.”

Severus could see this was not the preferred option. Hermione shifted the bag up again while glancing at the scrolls bundled together rather than at Severus, and then tiredly back up at Mr. Reese who had hailed a cab for them. Her pinched smile said it all.

“I could go with you, I’m sure. I have all the other documents in here and your schedule—”

“Miss Good, you’ve been invaluable as it is. I’ll just have to brave the line a second time. God willing Madam Hat isn’t there anymore!” Mr. Reese said while deftly plucking the scroll he required from the center of the pile. Hermione let it go, seeming to understand that any more argument was going to just be too obvious. She looked down at where her shoes would be if she could see them over the ends of the scrolls. “Take the carriage home and file the rest of those away for Lady McCray, would you?”

“Of course,” Hermione replied, a forced inflection of calm at the end. Mr. Reese was gone back again into the bowels of the Leaky Cauldron. How he as a Muggle was able to just dart in and out was beyond Severus, but it was obvious he had no underlying magical ability. But then again it was clear that Lady McCray got away with much more than the average Squib. As the carriage rolled up, Severus jerked open the door and waited for Hermione to climb in, but she remained on the sidewalk as if expecting him to go first.

“You’re free to take the carriage,” Severus said. “I’ll take the next one.”

“Please get in, I need to talk with you,” Hermione asked in that same stupid voice. He held the door for her while clenching his eyes shut in frustration. Once they were settled the carriage began its slow path through London to Lady McCray’s. The owl had probably already beaten Severus there, and he knew he’d never take Apparating for granted again.

Hermione sat across from him, not speaking. She was hardly silent though. Hermione tossed the rolls of parchment and paperwork onto the bench beside her as she dropped the bag at her feet with a dull thud. It sounded like a crystal ball was in the bottom of the tote. Then, the foot bouncing. Severus waited for a minute while Hermione kept dropping her eyes, picking them up, and then letting them fall. Severus had never really been one of those people to sit on the edge of their seat before—but the suspense was killing him. He just wanted her to spit it out.

“You can begin.” Severus started for her. Still, Hermione didn’t. She just watched him.

“I’d like to start with an apology,” Hermione finally said, her voice sharp as she struggled with control. Really, an apology now? Severus remained unmoved. “I knew I crossed a line but I didn’t think this would happen.”

Severus wanted to hurl. Hermione called him a name, a private name that only a dead bully or his son should know, and she didn’t expect his reaction to be less than warm? Sometimes she was stupid as Weasley. Severus rolled his eyes and their gaze fell outside the window as the street passed by.

“I suppose you’re incapable of foreseeing anything further than a minute, Miss Good. I thought only Potter was so near-sighted,” Severus said mercilessly. Whatever her pathetic apology was he would not accept it. He’d do the same to anyone if they’d called him that. “I don’t take it that you have anything useful to say?”

“I do,” Hermione answered a little firmer. “In my research, I’ve been able to find cases of wizards and witches seeming to just disappear, only to reappear maybe later or further away. A common theme was they were in the middle of Apparating when something had gone wrong. I’d like to investigate a few of these accounts and find anything we can.”

Hermione leaned down and began to dig through the bag at her feet. She pulled out her own notepad which was starting to have more wrinkled edges and she pulled a pencil from the loops of her braided hair. All damage from the battle was gone from her face, too. It seemed Hermione had finally acclimated to the environment. No longer did Severus see her try and wear trousers to any occasion. But these were the same facts they knew all along and Severus was less than impressed.

“Brilliant. Let me know when you figure out if any of them got hit by any spells their so-called ‘help’ flung at the victim, instead of back at the caster. You might have solved something,” Severus snorted.

Hermione slowly raised her head, and in the corner of Severus’ vision he could see her wind up to chuck the pencil across the carriage. He’d be able to dodge it but not the following notepad that flapped at him like a vengeful bird made of paper. It smacked him square in the chest as he recovered to glare at her, wand now drawn and at the ready.

“Well go on then!” Hermione shouted. “Go on, hex me! It’s bad enough that I’m stuck with a coward who doesn’t want to return to his own time, or even face the man responsible for nearly killing him, but he doesn’t even tell me to my face he won’t work with me anymore? That’s utter _bullshit_!” Behind her anger welling up and her bunched fists, Severus could see her indignation that went deeper than the surface. She wouldn't admit it, but Hermione was as judgmental as anybody else. His own anger started to inflate in his chest like a balloon at her ridiculous insults. _Coward_? Nobody who put up with Hermione Granger for long periods of time was a coward! He should be awarded Honor Of Merlin, First-Class for his patience with her thus far!

“Yes, because you’re so _perfect_ ,” Severus mocked. “Perfect Granger with her perfect marks, saving the day with Potter—”

“When are you going to get over Harry? You’re just so stuck on him! And after years and years of me defending you to him and Ron! Do you know what I said, two years ago? I asked Ron ‘how many times have you suspected Professor Snape and how many times have you been right’. I can't believe you’re so worked up over somebody you barely know!” Hermione snarled.

That was it. Lost in the anger Severus threw her notepad back at her. It bounced off her shoulder as she ducked her head out of the way. Hermione picked it up and pitched it back, to his surprise, and Severus had half a mind to burn it in the carriage when she pointed at the notes with a jabbing finger.

“Read it, and weep,” Hermione gloated with a smug glare. “I’ve come up with a hypothesis we can test, like you said. The spell the wizard cast was a transportation spell. He was trying to remove me, and I think Madam Pomfrey was trying to keep you in one spot while she went for help. Between that, the Apparating, and the wizard, you moved twice and stayed still. It resulted in a backwards throw through time and space.”

“Ridiculous,” Severus refuted without glancing at her chicken-scratch of Arithmancy and spell comprehension. “If that were true, then why can’t we Apparate now?”

“Because time is still passing. We’re still moving. You can't Apparate in the middle of another Apparition,” Hermione said, holding up her hands. Her left hand remained still as her right hand drew closer to indicate where they were and where they came from. “The wizard’s spell on you is waiting to take effect because we’re not in 1998. We’re not in 1998 because Madam Pomfrey kept you still. Madam Pomfrey’s Apparition set off a chain of events, creating a hole where she was moving through space and we were affected when she tried to Side-Along Apparate with me, and you grabbed me.”

Severus almost laughed in her face. It was a stupid theory, idiotic in design. Spells don’t wait. Was this what she wanted to tell him? Her half-baked idea of how spells moved and operated wasn’t even entry-level in understanding. He picked up the notepad and glanced it over.

“And while you’re playing errand boy—” Hermione continued.

“Careful,” Severus warned, his brow furrowing over her notes.

“I’m stuck with Reese, playing secretary, and we’re not getting any work done over our own situation! Lady McCray has us separated and at her beck and call. Not to mention you practically sent me elsewhere,” Hermione accused with a hurt-sounding hiss.

Severus was too busy looking at her notes to listen. While some of it seemed deranged, with notes in the margins and crossed-out bits, along with a generally muddled formatting, she’d provided a clear enough theory and a testable hypothesis. Some things they’d have to outsource and test with secondary means; they could not Apparate themselves so they’d need to ask somebody else to assist in their movement. He could hardly concentrate to decipher her notes because of her blasted tapping, though. Severus glanced up to demand that she settle down when he realized Hermione was hunched over. She looked like she had a toothache, by the way she was clutching at her cheekbone and temple, tapping her toes and humming at the same time. Was she losing her mind?

“Granger?” Severus finally called out. A frown was all she replied with. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can hear you,” Hermione sighed. “It’s _ringing_. I’ve had it since before we got here,” Hermione excused. She looked like she was fighting against the Cruciatus Curse for a little while longer before she was able to softly rub her temple. Ringing? Any inner-ear damage should be healed by now. Severus caught Hermione's bitter stare as she found his face from under her furrowed brow. “You promised you’d help me get home,” Hermione reminded Severus. "You can't do that _and_ avoid me."

Severus felt his face grow taut with frustration. He was trying! No, not _every_ waking moment used to figure out if he could eliminate the source of his inability to magically travel, like with the Skele-Gro project. But did she expect that it would be as simple as a standard spell-reversal? Just because Severus didn’t report to Hermione didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about their predicament. Two heads were always better than one, and Severus needed all the help he could get on this, so why would he refuse to work with her? A little red flag jumped out in his mind; Lady McCray.

“I didn’t ask to stop working with you,” Severus told her. Hermione just rolled her eyes with a smile that said ‘bullshit’ again. The smile was framed by disbelief. “I didn’t. Lady McCray’s contract has us labeled as individuals. I tried to argue with her. Is that what you think?” Severus clarified.

“No, of _course_ you didn’t tell Lady McCray you didn’t want to do field work with me anymore because I’m 'a liability'. How could I be so silly as to assume what I said affected you in any meaningful way that you’d make up an excuse to work alone,” Hermione said as if bored. For a moment, Severus heard a decent impersonation of himself.

“And who told you I said that?” Severus prompted. Hermione opened her mouth and nearly spat out the name, realizing what she was about to say. Tabby. Hermione groaned and hung her head in her hands. “Despite your fondness for them, house-elves are notorious gossips.” Severus replied. Tabby had been sowing seeds of dissent, most likely at Lady McCray's instruction.

“I’m an idiot,” Hermione sighed. Severus passed the notepad back to her in a more civilized manner than throwing it. Tabby's insinuations probably had to do with Hermione's silence with Severus, despite having worked out a possible solution, which would have been caused by the injured ego. It really was startling how similar they could be. Severus suspected Hermione would have done well in Slytherin. “I’m usually not this wrong.”

“Make no mistake, I—” Severus began, shocked by how forthright he nearly was with Hermione. “I...I am still...” he faltered. Still angry? Hurt? But that would mean admitting that he had those types of feelings, or that he could be hurt by people in that way. Not just people but Hermione Granger.

“I know,” Hermione said, taking the need away like when she’d almost said their first job had been fun. “I just wish you knew how sorry I was.”

The silence in the carriage was too much, after those words. She wiped her nose with a quick wipe of her thumb and Severus straightened up on the bench a little to ease out some of the tension in his shoulders. Hermione cast her eyes, intelligent and full, out the small carriage window as she tiredly rest her cheek on the ball of her fist. Now was one of those times that Severus could still hear Albus Dumbledore telling him it wasn’t too late to work on his personality. It was also one of those times that change seemed the hardest and he felt like a coward the most. Severus cleared his throat and found the pencil on the seat next to him, so he also passed it back to Hermione as if extending a proverbial olive branch. Hermione gingerly took the pencil and waited.

“We have wasted enough time. It appears Lady McCray has her own designs about what we should be doing, and has no interest in assisting in us returning to our own time. We can meet anytime after dinner to discuss possible solutions to our problems,” Severus dismissed as if that settled everything.

There. Severus had never handled anything this way in his life. He could practically hear Dumbledore laughing in that knowing little chuckle. The hopeful way Hermione turned back to him, with one hand still on her cheek and the other hand still holding onto the small pencil, said a hundred things from embarrassment to acceptance. The light inside the carriage made the shine of her eyes glitter like crystal.

_I’m sorry_ , said her face without him having to use Legilimency.

_I know. As you should be. Don’t do that again_ , he replied without words. It was a funny thing. By forgiving her, the power of that long-abandoned nickname faded away like a shade. Who knew forgiveness could be so peaceful.


End file.
